


Badlands

by Heavydirtys0ul



Category: Internet Personalities
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/Heavydirtys0ul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Phan and Septiplier one shots based off the album Badlands by Halsey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strange Love

**Author's Note:**

> Probably gonna have a lot of smut.

The younger of the two tended not to act his age. The thick Irish accent worked charms in his life and his eyes were a pit of cerulean gems; Jack had never sat down and seriously tried to seduce anyone, in fact his words often tripped over themselves and a blush was more common than a pickup line. But he looked like the sort of person you’d take home from a club with intentions of corrupting.  Mark was not all that different, he liked to be immature and crack jokes and laugh as much as every other 20 year old out there. He liked parties and rough nights and the occasional shots off his boyfriend’s body. But he was more mature, more down to earth, clever with his words and intentional with his actions. It’s how they got into the situation they’re in the first place. He identified the problem; Jack came up with the solution.

They had their own scheme; people would whisper about their strange love down the streets, their families would pretend they didn’t care but everyone knew about it. It just was never enough; they liked to keep themselves on their toes so every now and then they’ll switch it up with not just one person, but two or three, tangled in their sheets or in their lives. Never before had they sat down and seriously discussed the term “Polyamorous,” But then again no one had stuck around long enough for that conversation to go down. There was awareness that they were missing something, like two was just not enough (It made sense because they were both greedy people and tried to suck the most they could out of life). So when they sat down and discussed the idea of an open relationship, neither was jealous, only pointing out an obvious flaw in the social system that identified a relationship had to be a couple. It’s a general rule in life, why have two when you can have three?

Which brought them to this situation. For months there had been a few people that stayed the night or maybe came back for a couple more, but they all moved on, and no one really cared or noticed. They had lives to attend to outside of this, work and jobs and mouths to feed. But it was now the seventh time she’d fallen between their sheets, and suddenly it was hard to wake up without her there anymore. Really, she was the deciding factor that yes, this is what they wanted, this is what they were missing. If soulmates existed, then the three of them were bound by the red string of fate; and she was the crimson dye in the woven threads.

Her name was Alisha, and she was a beautiful cocktail of hurricanes and lemonade. She worked a boring 9 to 5 job that she hated with all the guts that she had, and she loved sex like it was her best friend. Perhaps it’s because she’s never known love and she doubts heavily that she ever will, that she’s decided that sex is the best thing in the world, or maybe that’s just the way she’s wired (which isn’t necessarily wrong).  She’s bisexual and half Jamaican, and running from lions every day. She’s not scared, ever, and they love that, both of them.

Sometimes they feel like they need that balance because they’re both scared of almost everything.

The first time was like any other time, it was just sex, and they hadn’t expected more. But then they saw her a second, and soon it was like they were turning up at the bar just to see her, and every night they’d take her home. Alisha would always laugh, tease them that they’re falling in love with her, whilst Jack would make an offhand innuendo as he tried to hide that fact that, yes, yes they were. Waking up next to her was becoming the warmest feeling in the world, like a fire burning or the first bite of a freshly baked tart. Mark and Jack would talk about it alone, it’s not often they agree on anything but this woman, this hurricane in their lives, was now ‘often’, she was one in a million.

Eventually, one morning when Jack was flipping pancakes and Mark was trying to (rather unsuccessfully) make a smoothie. They found themselves in conversation. “You said you needed a place to stay, right?” The (still) youngest muttered out in his Irish lilt, voice shaking just a little because if they fuck this up, that’s it, they’ll never see her again. Alisha raises an eyebrow, as if knowing where this conversation is heading. She hides a smirk before nodding through a mouthful of pancakes, pretending not to notice that Mark is no longer staring at the smoothie machine but at Jack, and the man in question was staring at his shaking hands whilst the pancakes burnt. “Maybe you should move in with us,”

It’s, in hindsight, a pretty bad decision, because they’ve known each other for about three months, but she couldn’t afford rent and they could more than afford their own so time was running out in terms of her finding an apartment. This wasn’t a charity case, it was coincidence. “Jack, the pancakes are burning,” is what interrupts the silence of bated breath, followed by muttered curses and the clang of metal into a sink. The oven is switched off and the room smells like burnt pancakes, but no one talks. The sound of breathing and pancakes being eaten as the two men wait for a response, fidgeting like schoolchildren in a math class.

“Alright then,”

Silence envelopes them, glancing from one to the other to see the emotion in their eyes. She’s surprised but she doesn’t believe in love so she can’t quite fathom why the blue eyed boy looks ready to burst into tears or why Mark has resumed staring so hard at blender, as if he’s ready to climb inside it to hide the way his heart is racing. “Only for you boys,”

Alisha leans up to kiss Jack softly, and can taste the salt on his lips from where he’d been wiping so frantically; she can feel his hands holding onto her as if afraid she might evaporate. The slide of their lips together is a reminder of more, despite neither of them being really ready for what is to come. She let’s go of the Irishman and moves over to the other half of the relationship (or third, depending on whose mind you’re in) and presses a sweet kiss to his lips, her hand on his as she lets out a mutter “Stop glaring at the damn blender, it’s done nothing wrong,” The three of them laugh as she moves upstairs, leaving the boys too their silent victory. The thing is, they needed someone strong, the perfect balance of the three because generally they struggled so much with staying strong, with independence, she gave them the will to do that.

That was just their strange love.


	2. Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is convinced he's insane. Until he finds someone who knows what it's like to be scared of medication.

Mark likes being alone. He likes silence and static and late nights where it’s just him and the stars and a blanket of darkness; he likes expensive alcohol but never drinking and the thrill of living on the bad side of town, where he’s hoping he might lose his life. He could afford a proper house, somewhere in Suburbia, but preferred to drink his money in cheap caskets of beer and smashed up wine bottles. He’d call himself a hurricane if he had the strength.

He’d been working a normal job on normal hours, taking bets and throwing insults back at drunken old men who’d turned violent over cash machines. His normal state of drained with bags under his eyes covered his face like a mask that’d never come off, as he ran off his third cup of coffee. The dark eyed man forced a smile to the customers that weren’t trying to be rude, and feared being judged in a place of sin.

When he took up the job at the club, he hadn’t actually expected much of it, in all honestly, the strippers were not his taste and the bouncers were a little too fierce and the whole place in general took his anxiety and blew it right up to points where his hands were shaking and tears were ringing his eyes. Occasionally he had some interesting conversations with a few customers, who were mostly here because there’s nowhere else for miles that actually sells alcohol that doesn’t pay through the roof for it. It was rare anyone genuinely turned up for the strippers, most people that did saw it as general entertainment rather than erotic.

Mark could appreciate a woman’s body, but he found it hard trying to sexualise anything, seeing as sex doesn’t really come easy for him. He’s not asexual, but he doesn’t exactly experience sexual attraction the way normal people do; his sex drive sort of picks up around someone he loves, someone he must love first, otherwise everything feels forced and strange and is definitely not something he’s ever rushing into again.

He’s also convinced he’s insane, actually it didn’t take much convincing, he can afford medication he just never takes it. His friend (his manager) constantly enlightens the other that he isn’t really insane, plenty of people in the world have disorders and it’s treatable. Mark pretends he can’t afford the medication, in reality he hates supressing a part of himself, it makes him feel numb, crazy. Even if his head is constantly is a mess, and he experiences seven different emotions at once, medication was not an option. Anxiety was the least of his worries, but it was a trigger for much worse. So were his wild and terrifying mood swings.

So far what we’ve gathered is Mark is sure he’s insane, but he’s really just living off his father’s drunken words; he lives like he’s a poor wreck, but has the money to have a good job and a nice house, and also his medication, but has none of the above because he feels he wouldn’t fit into that life. That his medication would stop him from feeling at all but without it how was he supposed to fit in a white picket fence life with children that he isn’t sure he wants and a wife he isn’t sure he could be attracted too. He’s never even explored his sexuality. He’s not sure what it is yet.

He learns how to at least solve that problem; actually well most of his problems are solved within the space of the next year thanks to the next five minutes of his life. Because it was a normal night, doing the same old thing, and then this guy with hair that looked positively radioactive sits down at the bar and grins. “Jack and coke,” Mark listens to the energy in his voice, the way it cracks and the Irish lilt that reminds him of a man that’d had far too much alcohol or perhaps seven cups of coffee. Instead, the bartender decides he’s naturally like this as he slides the drink over.

He’s relatively short, about an inch or two shorter than himself, with a manic gleam in cobalt eyes that look slightly crimson as the lights of the club passed through them. His face looks soft and young, with his mop of lime hair and hyperactive smile. They talk about life, about why they’re here, what drinks they like and when the world will end. Their topics slide together and at some point Mark was told his shift was over, but he sat on the other side of the bar with the Irishman, pretending they weren’t in a strip club. He doesn’t know that man’s name, (He divulges this later, and it turns out to be ‘Jack’) but the conversations go on into the early hours of sunlight, until they had to leave. He gives his own name in return.

Jack offers to take him home, with this coy little look that said he’s never been this attracted to anyone in his life, and Mark blurts out that he doesn’t know his sexuality, but that he’s never ready for sex straight away. The man’s hair shone in the red sunlight, making it shimmer as if emeralds made up the strands, he grins understandingly “Well then we can sleep and watch a movie, if you prefer?” The taller man thinks he might’ve found human interaction that he likes.

“I’m Pansexual, and I have ADHD, which you might’ve picked up on,” He waved a hand dismissively as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, but there was something residing in his azure eyes that begged him not to press it, as if he’s had experience of people walking away from a man with a disorder. It wasn’t even that big, or at least he liked to pretend, except he could never concentrate for long and he liked to be on his feet most times. It’s why the conversation changed every five minutes. 

“I…” He trails off, looking at the floor, his words choke together in his throat, gagging him before he simply spits out “Bipolar,” His cheeks go crimson, and he’s not embarrassed of his disorder, not at all, but he hates medication and he knows he can’t be in a relationship, can’t really be too close without it. Some people could probably manage, but he couldn’t . Then Jack smiles at him with tis proud, endearing smile, and he forgets his train of thought (It crashed into the bridge and derailed his mind).

There’s a point where he lost everything, every friend and every family, in a constant state of mania and depression. His life became an oxymoron and his parents were paying his bills just so he didn’t come home. Mark wasn’t sure he was ready to be in pain again, when Jack leaves, the only friend he’s had in years, he’ll be ready to fall back into that.

They have a nice morning together, they don’t make it through the movie, and fall asleep fairly quickly, with Jack’s back pressed against Mark’s front.

Fast forward three or so months, they’re still friends, Jack is getting used to Mark and Mark is getting used to Jack. Jack also doesn’t take medication, and they're both just as scared as each other of changing parts of them. But slowly they talk each other into what they know is best, and they start treatment again. They move in together, with a nice house on a nicer part of town, and they’re just friends really, but it’s not like anyone else bothers to put up with them, let alone their parents. For the first time in a very, very long time, Mark doesn't feel alone, or like an outcast, or someone who doesn't belong. Finally someone understands his reasoning, understands his fear of medication, and aren't calling him out, saying he's making himself worse on purpose for attention or whatever else neurotypicals can come up with. Jack squeezed his hand as they walked into the doctor's, and Mark held his when it was the other's appointment.

Give it a year, Mark has his sexuality down, and he’s not Jack-sexual, like people say when they've only ever felt sexual attraction for one person. But for the second time in his life sex feels good, (it’s the third time he’s ever had sex, and honestly it feels best with Jack). As it turns out there is a word for his type of attraction. He’s Demisexual.

Perhaps he was never really insane. Perhaps he just needed someone to help him face up to his problems. It was like he was an engine that needed to be powered, and Jack was his gasoline.


	3. Young God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's really non-detailed (pretty much implied) smut in this. Phan.

Sometimes he stood at the top of the roof, and watched the people below as if he were a god. The great distance made them look small, like ants, and through cigarette smoke they looked warped like most Humans were. He wasn’t allowed up here, touching the clouds with the tips of cocoa hair, but, here he was anyway; sat at the very edge, watching his feet dangle over, cigarette in one hand and a slow urge to see if he could fly.

Dan liked the silence, up here it was so far away from the claustrophobic noise of traffic and people and pain and hurt. The last three were basically the same thing. He takes a slow drag of the cigarette and exhales into the pastel sky. The waves of clouds, tinted pink by the light, reflects back a sense of belonging, this is where he belonged; in the clouds, like a young god.

He tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, which hangs over his knuckles like a shield protecting them from the approaching cold, his lungs ache and his throat burns but he loves to watch the smoke fly away. He wants to join it. The cigarette, now burnt out with no drags left, tumbles from his nimble fingers and disappears from view t a certain distance. He’s sure it hits the ground (He wants to join that too).

Eventually he hauls himself to his feet, his backside’s gone completely numb but it’s not a surprise. He heads down the fire escape and makes his way to the busy street below, boots scraping against the pavement as he did. Around him, there’s a warm breeze that was a stark contrast the cool air of the sky above. The brunet cast his soft dark eyes on the rooftop once more, remembering the simple thrill it offered, before heading away, back home.

Across the lot, a pair of bright cerulean eyes watched the scene with bated breath. How had he been the only one to notice the lonely boy sat right at the edge of the tallest building in the city? How had he been the only one waiting, worried if he’d jump? Or was the world so ignorantly selfish that they just didn’t care?

\--

The next day, Dan trudges home from school, the warm air carding like soft fingers through his soft brown hair, his hands clutched at the straps of his backpack. He hates school, hates this damn claustrophobic uniform. His hand comes up to play with the back of his piercing in his moment of distraction; he finds his body colliding with another. “Shit, sorry,” he curses, moving to look up at the stranger and instead finding himself lost in a small smile and wide blue eyes. “H-Hello,” follows up his words, he’s sure he must look a state because he’s  completely awestruck by the man he just walked into.

“It’s no problem,” A grin crosses the other’s face, there’s a blazer hanging off his shoulder so he must be roughly Dan’s age as he holds out his hand. “I’m Phil, I’ve seen you before,” The other taes a moment to register the deep voice is actually starting a conversation with him (But his pretty azure eyes are the only conversation he wants to hold). “You were like, up there yesterday, I thought you were going to jump,” Phil gestured to the large building over the road, before looking back at the other, whose cheeks were flushed crimson.

“It’s peaceful up there,” He mutters, his only defence, “You feel on top of the world,” he pauses, “I like it too much to jump, it’s something to live for,” There’s a silence and this conversation took a turn, but there’s little time to worry about there “Want me to take you?” The taller boy glances at his watch before looking up with a wide grin.

“Why not?”

\--

The two sit at the very top, watching the streets below their feet, “Do you feel like a young god?” the younger asks, and the wind is tugging his coffee coloured locks back from his eyes as they meet the others. “Like you own everything below you?” his hand rests gently on the side next to him, and there’s just cold brick and cold wind until Phil rests his own on the others. They gravitate towards one another and rest against each other.

“Yeah, the two of us, young gods,” He grins and they watch the people below walk about their daily lives. In that moment, in the loneliness of his life and the height of this building, Dan felt he might have found something else to live for. They both struggled with life in their own ways, but right now it was peace and each other they worried about.

They step off the edge and stand in the middle of the roof, watching the skyline instead (Dan is watching the skyline, Phil is watching him). A hand cups Dan’s jaw, directing his attention to himself, before their lips seal together softly. It doesn’t seem to matter or register they’ve known each other a little over an hour, because kissing Phil feels like forever in itself. Their lips tangle and dance together, their hands find each other’s, and they push as close as air would allow them to be. The younger can feel his heartbeat in his chest, and Phil can hear the blood pound in his ears.

“I know you want to go to Heaven,” The taller mutters, his charcoal hair stark against his pale skin, “But you’re Human tonight,” The two of them grin between light kisses, strangers but somehow lovers in a storm, with their hands clutching at each other’s clothes in the setting sun. “Do you have anywhere to be?” Phil continues, a hand playing slightly with the other’s shirt, a coy look in his bright eyes, “Because my house is empty tonight, and you’re something else, I’m not sure I want to let you go,”

“That’s good, because I don’t want you too,”

\--

As it turns out, Dan didn’t have anywhere to be, his parents were used to him not wanting to be anywhere near them and they were really just glad he wasn’t under their feet. So he took advantage of an attractive boy taking him home, and didn’t complain when the door was closed and there were lips pressed to his collarbone. The two of them were kings of the world, no one was stopping them as they curled around each other, as they kissed and pushed and explored.  Silently, the elder made note of the taste of cigarettes and coffee that were lingering on the other’s tongue. I should repulse him, such a bitter taste, and yet the taste was so inexplicably **_Dan_** that he didn’t complain at all.

Strangers. They were strangers. They’d met about two hours ago at the side of a street where Phil worried that he’s be suicidal (and wasn’t entirely wrong), and Dan was lost in this boy’s eyes and voice and… everything. They had been stood at the tallest building in Manchester and realised they both wanted to be free, wanted to feel alive. Never in their lives had they met someone who’d understood them without speaking.

This is what led them here, to wandering hands and such. It’s not a first except with each other, and they’re silently hoping it won’t be the last as the younger’s soft and high moans echo through the empty house.  “If you want to go to Heaven, you should fuck me tonight,” It’s so blunt but soft, and his brown eyes look like galaxies could live inside them. Dan’s lying there, on his back, with his shirt half unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulder, blazer and tie on the floor, with his pants unbuttoned and hair a mess. He looks wrecked, with his lips swollen from kissing and tan chees a tint of crimson; like sin itself started in his chest.

It’s not love, but they pretend it is, when they’re grinding messily against each other, with their hands gripping tightly at whatever  they can find (Dan’s end up in Phil’s hair, Phil’s end up on Dan’s thighs). It could be love if they give it a while. They decide that Heaven is right there, and they are the gods of their own sort of personal bliss.


	4. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark is just a corrupted file in Mark's system, but when Jack is sucked inside Dark's head, it awakes a failed code of his own.

"Oh Jack...you shouldn't have got too close...you should have left me to my madness, you should've been afraid...now look at you," 

\--

Mark stared at the man in front of him, as the world shrunk of it's darkness and all the hatred he had previously felt coursing through his veins vanished. The weight on his shoulders, the ownership of what he had done, lifted, and the blood stained on his hands meant nothing with the presence of the other beside him. "Mark?"Came a hushed, hurried whisper "What have you done?" He whimpers and shakes his head, a crushing sense of realization overwhelming him as he collapsed to his knees. The other man, with hair made of emeralds and eyes made of the sea, fell beside him, his hands cupping the other's with a melancholy look in the azure of his eyes. "It's ok, you're ok, we're going to be ok," Jack hadn't met Darkiplier,  hadn't experienced his evil first hand. They most certainly were not going to be ok. 

The other man, surprisingly calm about the entire situation (he knew Mark, he knew his friend, he trusted him, this would all be ok), washed the blood off the elder's hands and pushed his clothes into the washing machine. The Irishman paced backwards and forth in the kitchen, whilst the washing machine hummed in the background, the sound of the clothes turning inside is the only sound this apartment dares to admit. The green haired man continued to pace, muttering out curses in a thickened Irish accent, gnawing at his fingernails until crimson lined the skin. "Fucking Hell," He growls, back hitting the wall as he slide down it, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. His best friend was a murderer. 

"It wasn't me," Came a soft voice, and Jack immediately looks up and meets a pair of dark eyes, with heavy lids lined with sorrow and misfortune. Mark slid down the opposite wall and stared at his hands "Jack I'm fucking **_insane_** ," Those hands had today ripped through someone's flesh, his nails had scraped through until blood was being drawn. His hands moved of their own damn accord now it seemed. Well no, it was **_him_**. **_He_** did this. **_Dark._**  

Dark was neither real nor imaginary, more like a parasite or Demon that festered within the core of his very being; a corrupted, evil little thing, who changed his mind and body like a computer being re-coded. Dark looked like him, moved like him, sounded like him, except his eyes were dyed like crimson, and he smelt of sulfur and blood. The teeth were a symbol of his madness, too, sharp but jagged, like rocks that had been carved pretty badly. He was a glitch in Mark's system. A fault in his code. "There's something in my head, fuck, why aren't you scared?"

Jack snorted, unable to help himself "Believe me I'm fucking terrified," The younger man fidgeted slightly and ran a hand through his hair, gripping tightly at the strands. He could feel himself tearing up, eyes watering like a dam about to break; but he clamped his hands over his eyes as if to hold them in or perhaps hide from his friend. He knows Mark, he knows him as a kindhearted, sweet and loving person, this wasn't him. He believed him thus far, but if what he's saying is true then yes, he is crazy, this just wasn't normal. And what now? He wasn't going to turn in his best friend, knowing that he wasn't truly guilty. What was this? "We'll figure it out, I know we will," The smaller boy crawls forward and buried his face in his best friend's neck, holding onto him with shaking hands for all it was worth. 

\--

The first time Jack met Dark, it was 3AM on a Saturday morning, and this was the third time his best friend had stumbled in, covered in blood (though he doesn't doubt there have been more times that left unaccounted for). At first, the Irishman didn't notice, going to help his friend in the usual mantra that he had fallen into; then he noticed it...the tint of crimson in his eyes, the blank stare that shot straight through him. The teeth, were perhaps even worse, sharp and jagged, like an animals, made for carnivores, with blood staining them in a way that made him gag. This, this was who Mark had been talking about. This...creature. A hum escaped him followed by a low chuckle that radiated off every surface the apartment could offer. "Jack," Another hum, lilted with a darkness that smelt like sulfur and burnt his ears to hear that voice with such a tone. "There's so much you don't know about me," A hand, covered in dirt and blood, comes up to touch Jack's chin, forcing his head to turn as though the pupil less eyes were studying him. "Allow me to...show you," 

\--

Inside this head is twisted, it's dripping with charcoal and rewritten base codes three thousand times. It's corrupted files and endless viruses; a broken mutation in a prototype called insanity. When Dark opens up his mind for the other, all Jack can do is scream. He sees death like a first person POV in a game, he watches necks snap and mouths crunch and hands run through bodies. Like an infection coursing through his veins, he can only feel weak. As if his body is on fire, he collapses to the floor, with the visions of the past embedded behind his eyelids. Every single one. 1 thousand, 2 hundred and 43. Exactly. That's how many bodies lined the streets at the hands of his friend. "Please, no more," He whimpers. "Please,"  
  


His body twitches, his stomach lurches. He can see only bright light as he lays very still on the floor. It's like he's seeing out of different eyes, with different emotions. Until he realizes he's not him at all. This rage is so new, is so heavy that it wraps itself around his lungs like an iron bar, and sits at the bottom of his stomach like a rock in the ocean. Jack blinks, and feels himself slipping back, like he's a passenger in his body, but also not quite. He can feel and he can think and he can see, but the feelings of someone else has taken over, a voice that has been shocked into awakening talks with his mouth. "Hello there," He stands shakily, but it feels like a join effort with another conscience as he does so, swaying on his feet as he finds himself making eye contact in the hall mirror. Dark is smirking. He is surprised to see he also is. 

There's no color to his complexion, and the azure veins sticks out prominently, around the left side of his face; he looks like a ghost that is stood there in fright of his own reflection. Jack feels he wants to be scared, but instead feels a warmth like pride swelling through his veins with every heartbeat. For a moment, he is sure he can pass it off as a simple fright, until he finally pushes his vision past it's glamour, to meet his eyes- or eye, specifically. One was still his normal azure hue, blinking back fear rapidly. And the other had a clear green hue to the middle, that spun off into little veins in his otherwise onyx eyeball. The smirk broadens, and Jack registers the fact he is afraid of himself. 

"You God damn right you should be scared of me," It's his voice, that's his voice, so full of **_malice_**. 

He looks to the left, to see Mark staring up at him with these eyes, his own eyes, dark brown as etched with fear. The words 'what have I done?' bubble on his lips but never leave. The two of them, infected with the same disease, the awakening of a glitch in their systems. 1 thousand 2 hundred and 43 will be doubled before the month is over. 

"Oh Jack...you shouldn't have got too close...you should have left me to my madness, you should've been afraid...now look at you," There's a silence, and the two monsters fade as the friends collapse side by side, unable to weigh up the consequences of their actions. "I'm so sorry,"


	5. Hold Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t even realise this was something he enjoyed until the first time he noticed that Dan refused to move unless Phil explicitly old him he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's smut in this part. Again I don't tend to go really into detail with the smut, like it fades in and out but in comparison this is much more detailed.

As the wind carded its cold fingers through the cocoa coloured strands of Dan’s hair, he sat very still and re-evaluated the equation of his life. When originally planning out everything he wanted to do, and the steps he was going to take to get there, he, of course, had not foreseen Phil in this equation. His original plan was just to finish college and go to university, but he secretly thinks that perhaps what he has now is so much better.

The elder man practically worshipped him, when they kissed, when they slept, when they woke in the morning his pale hands touched Dan’s skin like a priest would hold the Holy Host. Phil made him feel complete, loved, like he was the most blessed thing on Earth. There are times when the opposite occurs, when the sheets are tangled around their legs and their bodies are a thrumming movement of sin. Days when he’s pinned to the mattress as is he begged to be held down, to lose all control. He lived for both, the innocent times and the more obviously lust driven.

He digs his hands into his pockets just as Phil comes around the corner, there’s a smile that reaches his shining eyes as he wraps his arms around his lover. “Sorry I took so long, we had a few customers that were taking their time leaving,” His hand slides down to Dan’s cold ones and holds them as if to warm them up. “Come on then let’s head home,”

They walk home hand in hand, embracing the cold as a harsh awakening of life, they’d prefer the heat but you don’t always get what you want. The plus of the winter frost, was that when the snow came down Phil indulged himself in acting like a child. They were both children at heart, overlooking studying and the taxes they had to pay.

As they walked into their apartment, throwing their coats haphazardly onto the couch, the two came to the crushing realisation that it was not much warmer inside. The younger man quickly moved to switch on the heating, before they traipsed towards the shower together; both of them were nearly shivering from the cold and they’d seen so much of each other’s bodies that there came a point where there wasn’t a question asked any longer.

The hot water ran over their skin softly, the warmth almost scalding despite the low setting. Their bodies pressed together, with Dan’s slender back against Phil’s chest; it was intimate but not sexual as they both allowed the water to wash over their skin. The stark contrast of the blue eyed man’s pale skin against his lovers could make a masterpiece by itself (Absently, Phil thought so too). For a while they just stayed like this, enjoying the warmth and closeness of one another, before Dan quietly suggested they should actually wash, a small smile peaked at his lips as he moved away from Phil and watched the other fumble with the soap and sponge the way he did every time. “It’s not my fault, it’s so slippy!” He complained, but the other would only giggle.

Eventually they were washed and out of the shower, drying off their bodies and hair before gravitating towards their bedroom. It wasn’t sexual before, the closeness and connection. But when Phil steps forward, his eyes alight and presses his lips to Dan’s with a firm vigour that came from seemingly nowhere, they both come to the conclusion that this was a separate lane altogether.

The younger man’s body became pressed against the warm sheets, that smelt distantly of washing powder and Phil. Their bodies, warm from the shower and now the heat of each other, press together with their mouths. Dan never asked, but his hands become pinned to the bed, and realised that Phil has just become familiar with the things he likes and dislikes. Being held down, it seemed, was something he loved. Because he trusted Phil, he trusted him even when they were sneaking around behind their parents back, and he trusted him years later, now. So he trusted him to _control_ him. He hadn’t really realised that he loved Phil until someone said home and he was the first thing that came to mind.

Phil’s lips work wonders against his collarbone, there’s no embarrassment for the soft moans, or even how open and unable to hide he is. The serious amount of anxiety that he experiences causes him to hate feeling cornered or without choices, but there’s something so very different about the ebony haired man that he becomes a rulebook unto himself. “Phil, fuck,” He pants, and tries not to moan as he thinks about the definite bruises against his wrists at this point. “More, please don’t stop,”

He doesn’t stop, of course he doesn’t, he’s got expressive permission to continue and he, like every other human being with a sex drive, finds himself very quickly moving to grind against his lover. The room smells like sweat and sex (the shower now appears to have been a pointless endeavour), the two find themselves tangled in each other. A series of events unfold where Phil’s head makes its way between Dan’s legs (And the brunet doesn’t move his wrists, they stay exactly where the other had left them, completely and utterly under his control). “Phil,” He whines, panting and begging.

And the elder man loves the exhilaration, loves to know that only he can make Dan bend at his will, makes him trust him completely. He is so in love with this man and to see how submissive and pliable he is just for Phil feels like winning the lottery every time. He didn’t even realise this was something he enjoyed until the first time he noticed that Dan refused to move unless Phil explicitly told him he could(He was just lay there, his wrists bruised from being pinned down, his long eyelashes blinking and his body covered in hickeys, as well as drying ropes of cum on his chest like some sort of decoration).

When Dan releases, it’s full of soft little whimpers, with his back arching ever so slightly, his hands ball in a fist which indicated he wanted more than anything to card his fingers through his lover’s hair, but didn’t. The elder licks his lips and moves to kiss the other. “You can move baby boy,” He smiles sweetly and watches as Dan scrambles onto his lap to kiss him softly. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”  



	6. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Septiplier. Trans!Jack

When he was smaller, he wore dresses hand-picked by his mother and his name was different. Everything was pink, and flowers grew in the spaces between his mind and skull. His thighs were tickled by soft material, and his body wasn’t quite as aligned as it was now (a delicate little thing). When he was seven years old, he looked his mother in the eyes, in a thick Irish lilt and muttered “Mama, I don’t wanna be a girl,” And she smiled at him, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and didn’t press the matter.

“You can be whoever you want to be, as long as you’re still my baby,”

When he’s twelve years old, he learns what the word “Transgender,” means, and his parents insist it’s not a bad thing, but the boys at school seem to have a real problem with it. The word “Tranny,” is burnt into his mind, and it hurts so bad, by the time he’s thirteen he’s crying himself to sleep in a way he hadn’t since he was seven. The teachers tell him ‘Perhaps it’s best just to be _normal_ ,’ What even is fucking normal? He’s thirteen years old and all he knows is how to be himself, why do people have such a big problem with this?

He was blue.

He wasn’t pink, although he could be a rainbow if he tried, he knew what he was. And if that wasn’t normal then so be it, they can take on his abnormal-ness and accept it. At fourteen he stopped caring, he learnt that if words fail then fists generally solve the problem. Eventually they found someone else to bully (He had no idea if they got bored or whether it was the fact he actually put up a fight).

His name was Jack. His hair was a stream of emerald and the colour of freshly cut grass, his eyes were an ocean and his thick Irish accent let out a stream of words every time he spoke. He was still blue. His eyes, his jeans, his hands after writing furiously for hours. His stereotype. And he was blue because he was still lonely. Jack had stopped the bullies from attacking him, but no one else wanted to be seen with someone like him.

When he’s sixteen, he meets Mark. When Mark speaks he sees red, like the tips of his hair or his cheeks when he blushes. It doesn’t bother him that Jack was Transgender, it doesn’t bother him that he sees things in colours. Mark is warmth in his own right; a feeling he’d never experienced before, he feels accepted and loved in his presence. “Fuck them, they don’t understand,” He mutters “But I do, and I always will,”

He’s sixteen and three months when Jack gets his first kiss. They’re upstairs in his room, their legs intertwined whilst giggling off some random facts about space and the sea; their noses are brushing and neither of them are surprised as what occurs has been in production for the last two months. Their lips press together and their bodies gravitate towards each other as if the force of gravity was made specifically for them. Mark’s hand is gentle against Jack’s waist, whereas the Irish boy’s hand was clutching at his friend’s jacket. It’s not hot or heavy or passionate, but he’d never felt more loved.

Suddenly, he was not blue and Mark was not red, they were a horizon in the shade of purple, and their bodies were an artwork in motion. Jack has been seeing emotions in colours his whole life, he loved colour, and he was obsessed with it. Yet being with Mark made everything so simple, so black and white instead of a spectrum of confusion. The Irish boy is on top of the world with his lover, he’s not strange, he doesn’t have to be _“Normal”_ and he’s more than a _“Tranny,”. He’s just Jack._

When he undergoes hormone therapy, his emotions become a wreck, and the colours become a haze. For a while Jack is sure he’s going insane until Mark holds his hands and things begin to clear for him. He’s going to be ok. When he gets his breasts removed, and he’s dealing with the constant backlash, the strange sensation of having a very different body, Mark is still there. And when he makes the decision not to have full surgery, he’s still there, still supportive; he’s happy with his body now.

He’s 19 when he first has sex. And it’s been a long wait before he’s been comfortable enough to let anyone else near his body. His lover thinks of him as no less of a boy when his mouth is trailing over his abdomen, when his teeth are grazing his skin. He doesn’t link female to vagina, even as his fingers trace his folds. Mark will always think of Jack as a boy, as his boy. If he was happy in his body, then Mark was happy to support him.

“Night pretty boy,” He muttered.

\--

As time went on, Mark went a little grey. The lines in his hair began to show through the random coloured dyes, his eyes were sad and soft. The smoke that poured out of the window from his lips and the way that he spoke was heavy with that one, drained colour. Everything about him was grey. Grey and red don’t make a beautiful purple horizon; they make a sickly colour of dried blood after a murder scene.

When Mark was diagnosed with depression, Jack promised he would stay around as long as possible. It wasn’t sudden and they’d both witnessed the decline, and they had also promised ‘Til death do us part’ without the rings. “It’s ok,” Jack muttered, even when all Mark wanted to do was hug, when he stopped wanting to speak and had to have razors pried from his grip. He made a promise.

\--

Depression never truly heals. But he went back to being red, admittedly it was a little pale, but Jack was vigilant, he was warm and happy and understanding. He kissed his lover every morning, reminded him constantly he was loved, and did all he could to suppress his anxieties. Soon Mark began to live for the “I love you’s” every morning. He reminded himself of the love he had.

They would bounce off each other, like the light that forms a rainbow. And create something beautiful with the colours that they were.


	7. Coming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Septiplier. Kinda a continuation from Colors. Trans!Jack, kinda a vent I'm not gonna lie.

Jack had always struggled with love, and loving himself. His body wasn’t perfectly aligned to his ideas of perfection; the scars where his breasts used to be prevent him from looking down at himself and saying “I am a work of art,”

The night is cold today; the wind blows through the strands of painted hair, as the moonlight reflects its light generously to its emerald hue. The world is quiet, and his hands shake against his lover’s from the cold whilst the tip of his nose blushes crimson from the kiss of the wind. Jack doesn’t want to disclose what he has in mind, the idea of opening a physical side of this relationship was making him tremble, and if he tells Mark then it feels like he has no choice to back out. Which is not the sort of person his partner was, but however Jack was the sort of person to feel guilty for nothing.

It’s not that he doesn’t want sex, when he’s rubbing his thighs together at night in hope for the smallest of release, he knows he wants sex. It’s just this body, scarred and never completed. The Irishman didn’t want to have full surgery, he just didn’t like the look of a synthetic penis and his dysphoria came from generally his breasts in the first place (and then there’s the having a kid thing). Mark had been extremely patient with him; they’d been together before he’d undergone any surgery at all, three years. In that time the most they had done together is grind for release (which was something they’d d often). Between them they had tried to go further, but every time Jack had felt too uncomfortable in his skin and Mark had respected his wishes. In fact the man had more patience with him than he, himself did, because every time he’d beat himself up about it, and his lover would express that it didn’t matter. Sex was just a thing. He could live without it.

The world goes very still as they reach their apartment door, both of them shaking from the cold Irish air, their breath had ran out like smoke to the sky, and the tips of their ears were dyed the same colour as the blush on the younger’s face every time his lover laughed. Sometimes he thinks he found God in the midst of Mark’s laughter.

The warmth of the apartment sparks up with the growl of the heater. Jack sits at the edge of the bed and studies his reddened fingertips, his mind in several different directions. The taller man, leaning against the bathroom door, studies his boyfriend’s jittery movements, as if cataloguing all the things that could be wrong in this situation before he opens his mouth. “Are you ok?” Is what he settles on eventually, watching Jack come down from the high of the snow and romance of the outside winter wonderland. It seemed he was crashing.

“I…I’m not sure,” He admits softly, looking up with this complete hopeless look that said he so desperately wanted to say what was on his mind, but was stuck shock still by fear. A little exasperated by himself, he closes his eyes and presses his fingers too his temples, inhaling and exhaling to prevent the tight sensation he could feel around his caged chest. “I want…but I’m…” A sigh of frustration dipped off his tied tongue, but bluntness wouldn’t work and neither would jumping around the houses with this situation. “You know I’ve not fully transitioned,” He finally says, “I’m worried that you’ll hate my body,”

Heartbreak ripped across Mark’s face like an open wound to a dagger. It’s hard to understand because he’s confident, he has the body he worked hard to get, and it’s the body he’s always been comfortable in. He doesn’t understand because to him, Jack is a work of art, he’s a picture of love on a blank canvas otherwise known as life. “Jack, I love you, and I will love your body, it doesn’t matter about the scars, it doesn’t matter what you don’t have, all that matters is this is all you, and it’s you I love,”

The Irishman gives a watery smile, burrowing his face into Mark’s neck. “I want to do this, I really do, I’m just…I’m nervous, I’m scared,” His lips are met with the gentle touch of his lover’s, a calming sensation ripples through his nerves, sparking up and down his spine like a melancholy happiness that he couldn’t quite place. It feels like his first kiss again, with a promise of something new, until that paradox called nostalgia sinks beneath his skin. He remembers that first kiss.

“Do you mind if I get undressed in the bathroom? Alone?” He stammers softly, “I just need a moment…” He whispers, looking up at the man he’d trust with anything. Ever the understanding one, Mark nods, pecks his cheek and watches him retreat with this excitement in his eyes that made the younger’s heart flutter.

He undresses with ice laden fingertips, trembling; the feeling of his own cold hands startled his skin whenever they brushed together. He’s only got his shirt off, fingertips tracing the scars that marked the journey that made him who he is. Unable to help himself, Jack swallows and blinks rapidly, his shaking hands hovering. He doesn’t speak, of course, but his inner monologue isn’t pretty, as he steps out of his jeans. His body is thin, skinny, and apart from the scars, he stands in his boxers almost afraid of what’s underneath them. He doesn’t take them off; he wants Mark to do that.

Stepping back into the room, he sees his lover in just his boxers, as if they had somehow come to the same conclusion together. The light in the other’s eyes makes him smile slightly, flushing a soft crimson all the way through his body. “Hey,” The smaller whispers with a bashful smile, clearly self-conscious in the situation he was currently stood centre of. Mark stands and quickly presses their lips together. Like an off switch, all the tension seems to melt and Jack’s body moulds with the taller man’s, the two of them like puzzle pieces that slot so well together. Fingertips brush over the faded scars like they are battle wounds in a fearsome war of life.

“You are so handsome, my little man,” The emerald haired man smiles up as if the sun itself could not shine as much as they did in that moment. “I love you,” Their lips press together softly and sweetly, but asking for more with each desperate time they re-join. Their bodies find their way to the bed, and the sheets entangle them a few times, causing hushed giggles in the low sunset. The sky was bleeding delightfully, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon to light someone else’s world.

They were made for the darkness, for insecurity and kisses. They were made for scars and wounds and late night conversations. They were made for doubt and self-hate. They were made for each other. Jack’s lips press against the surgery scars that stand out against the golden skin, and he feels fingertips all night long curiously brushing his own. Insecurity builds through him, but it’s struck down with every gentle confession. He’s found God in the way Mark whispers his name desperately, and the way his hair falls into his soft eyes. In the same sentence he’s found the Devil, in the taste of the other’s lips and the way his calculating gaze meets his own. The way the other man looks up with his head between Jack’s thighs.

It’s so fast, to feel like this. To not have to worry because he is a man. He’s a man with the slightly wrong coding, but he’s a man. And he’s being loved for that, his body (which he hates to no end) is loved by someone. All he can think is why he didn’t think about this in the first place. His fingers weren’t cold anymore as they dug into Mark’s back to the point they leave little half-moon marks, littered across his shoulder. His lips burned from kisses, his heart pounded from the energy.

He’s never been religious until now, but he swears there’s a God in this feeling. This feeling of being loved and treasured and respected. For once his body doesn’t feel like a cage, he feels like he could love it too. He’d sacrifice anything for this feeling over and over again.


	8. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel Howell was a Hurricane, and Phil was the wake of destruction he left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very small and written at two AM because I can't sleep.

If Phil could describe Dan in one word, it would be “Hurricane,”

He was, Daniel Howell was a hurricane, a storm, a natural disaster, a trail of destruction that followed in his path with the hearts he broke and the smiles he caused and the fucks he just couldn’t give about anything, anyone. He was a poet, a lover, a friend and a calamity at once, and Phil could never appreciate having such a friend; despite his record, he’s never met anyone that feels like shelter from the pouring rain. Phil knows and expects to have his heart broken, because Dan didn’t need anyone, he didn’t experience the same basic emotions that made humans into needy, clingy little creatures. He thinks it would be an honor to have his heart broken by this catastrophe of a man.

It’s not romantic, he just likes to feel. He’s never really felt love which is strange because he’s definitely experienced heartbreak, in fact the first sixteen years of his life were nothing but. Usually one has to feel love to have their heart broken, and there comes a point where neither of them believe that they can. This isn’t about love, their weird, fucked up relationship they have that becomes a competition to see who has the best insults and who can make the other cry the fastest. It’s corrupt, it’s wired all wrong. They’re wired all wrong.

And Dan is the heart of it. With his natural chocolate curls and pastel nail varnish that made quick effort to dig into porcelain skin late at night. He is the eye of the storm and Phil is the broken pathway that he leaves behind. It’s not right, the way they scream at each other in blind hatred, the way that the younger finds himself with anyone else just to piss off his friend (lover?). The way he wears the bruises of the night before like battle scars just to prove to Phil “I am my own damn person and I need nobody,” It breaks him. He knows Dan is strong, he knows Dan is his own person. But Dan is so headstrong in trying to convince them both of this that he’s failing to see that Phil isn’t.

The elder is fragile glass, he’s the vase that gets smashed in a fight, he’s the thunder to the lightning (can cause no harm) and he’s the broken phone screen that’s lying in the corner. He needs to feel safe and secure and never can be. He sits alone and waits for the other to return, ready to hold him and wait for him, ready for a shouting match because it's just how they feel alive. Even if he cracks a little every time. Because yes he thinks if he could love then he would love the younger boy, but the other would never even try to love. It would make him feel weak.

The dark eyed boy allowed many people into his body, let many tug at his curls and bite marks into his collarbones, there were scratches on his back and bruises on his thighs so often. A stranger would make art of his body every other night, whereas the one who lay awake waiting for him would try to make them heal. Phil doesn’t put them there, because the elder treats the other like he his own God, worshiping every scar with his lips, touching all that he can with this feather light touch (And it’s the only time Dan can convince himself that he can love, the only time he allows himself to feel fragile). He allows so many people into his body, but he only lets Phil into his soul.

Dan’s a **_fucking_** hurricane. He’s a blur in the horizon and never stays still long enough to be caught. He’s a natural disaster, a one night stand. He didn’t belong to anything or anyone and lived life through cigarette smoke and rough sex. He didn’t feel, he didn’t want to either, perfectly content being numb and alone. Until he met Phil. And by God, did he feel then. He felt fury and anger, sorrow and anguish, he felt they pressure in his chest and this agony whenever their eyes met. The headache of jealousy and cutthroat experience of envy. He felt overjoyed with his smile and lost in his eyes, like a hopeless child some days or a powerful entity others. Phil in himself was his own disturbance. He was the shock waves before the Earthquake.

And one day they’d both understand these cocktails of emotions to make up love.


	9. I Walk The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Mark: NO SMUT THIS IS PURE FLUFF.

He’s curled up like a kitten in the other’s lap, feeling the soft hand play lightly with his mussed green hair. The thinner, more slender boy is wearing only his boxers and his lover’s baggy t-shirt. But right now this isn’t about lust or relationships that extend too far. Mark likes to keep innocence in the other’s space, when he’s like this that is. Jack doesn’t do it on purpose; sometimes it’s like a self-defence for when his worried become a weight breaking his back. The elder man has never found it weird, and accepted him for everything that he was no matter what, even if it was a little bit of a surprise at first.

“Daddy,” The younger asked softly, sipping his drink lightly from the plastic cup in his hands. His head is lay back against the darker man’s chest, feeling the strong arms around him that spoke of protection and warmth and cuddles. He feels Mark shift and looks up to meet the other man’s soft brown eyes, his own cerulean orbs reflecting a shine that no one else could have. “I want cuddles, I’m tired,” Jack whispers, shifting against the other, his lithe little body shaking as he yawned.

“Ok we’ll go to bed then baby boy,” As a general rule, Mark kept sex or anything concerning sex out of Jack’s little space. Not only did it feel weird, he wanted some part of Jack to be innocent, to be kept away from the harsh realities of the world and everything that it could entail. The younger had expressed outside of his space that he wouldn’t mind, but it was in his lover’s best concerns that they didn’t do anything like that.

He scoops up the other and carries him to the bathroom, the hum of the TV still in the background. Jack giggles, overjoyed that his feet don’t touch the ground whilst his fingertips trace the wallpaper behind him before he is placed in front of the sink and begins to brush his teeth. Mark goes about to tidy up the living room area, switching off the TV, grabbing a glass of water for either of them in case they need it during the night, before setting the alarm and heading upstairs.

By the morning, Jack will most likely be back to normal Jack, but just in case he tucks his favourite stuffed animal in the other side of the bed before checking on his lover. “Are you ok pretty boy?” He hums, watching the younger scrub toothpaste off his lips with a cheeky grin. “I’ll take that as a yes then, have you used the toilet?” A nod as his hand is tugged on, anxious to get to bed. “You go ahead and get in love I’ll just brush my teeth and I’ll be right there,” Mark doesn’t miss the pout tugging at his lips, but smiles nonetheless at his adorable boyfriend.

“Daddy,” Comes a whine, when he’s halfway through washing his hands. “Daddy I’m cold hurry up,” A laugh tumbles off the tip of his tongue, biting his lip so he can use his stern voice.

“Be patient baby boy, we’ve had this conversation many many times, you have to wait for me to come to you unless you really, desperately need me, you can’t always have what you want when you want,” He leans against the door and raised his eyebrows. Jack flushes and picks at the bedcovers, pouting as he fears that he is being shouted at. Seeing water well up in those soft azure eyes, Mark sighs and sits on the bed, wiping the tears away “I love you don’t be sad now,” He presses a kiss to the other’s head and gets in beside him, pulling him to his chest.

For years, Jack had kept himself away from relationships, he feared his secret being found out, and as he wasn’t entirely sure how to control it sometimes, he felt it was best just to keep it to himself. Keeping a close eye on his heart and who he dated, and who he fell for. For years he denied himself being involved with anyone. When he’d met Mark, he had dreaded ‘coming out’ with his secret, and fear had stopped him from being near him too often. Humiliated by what he would do, he refused to let himself get too close, fully intending just to fuck him several times. But it came out one day when he was severely distressed, and he slipped completely into his little state. Understanding, albeit confused, Mark completely assumed a protective, fatherly role that he knew the other would need, not ever wanting him to be uncomfortable.

After that Jack completely accepted his feeling for Mark, even though he now potentially risked everything to do so. There was no one else he thinks would have done what the elder man had done, maybe freaked out, maybe left, maybe tried to awkwardly comfort him. That’s how he knew they were soulmates; he had recognised what Jack had wanted and immediately became what he had needed.


	10. Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan isn't crazy, he knows he has to get to the castle before they find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much longer than the other's but I hope you still enjoy it, it's a bit scrambled but I hope it makes sense :)

Phil is aware that Dan isn’t ordinary. Or at least, that’s what he expresses to the world. See the young man sees things that other people can’t, can see patterns that the world wouldn’t notice, and he thinks in dreams. He’s convinced that there’s something trying to capture him, someone who wants to use his mind for evil purposes, as if there was ever any good that came from stealing a mind. “I need to get to the castle, that’s where I’ll be safe,” He protests to his best friend, brown eyes wide and soft and scared. “Phil you have to believe me, I need to get to the castle,” He doesn’t want to dishearten his friend, but he knows at some point he’s going to have to tell him that his ‘visions’ aren’t real and that if he’s not careful he could get himself into serious trouble.

That time hadn’t yet arrived, and that was why their heavy feet were currently dragging along a road out of town.

Phil was sure that he’d be back in a couple of days, so he explained to his parents he was going on a quick road trip with his friend, and not to worry. Around two hours into the walk, he realised skinny jeans were not a good option to go for a hike in. Other than this, he was also wearing thick black boots and a blue and green shirt that clung to his back as his backpack crushed his spine. He felt like a mess as the wind plastered his ebony hair against his face, provoking his azure eyes to screw closed occasionally.

Opposite him, Dan was wearing black converse and the same skinny jeans, with a baggy black sweater that seemed to hang off one shoulder ever so slightly, and exposed his collarbones enough to keep him cool. The wind seemed to be kind to him, because he looked as calm and collected as a model would. He tried not to be jealous of the other, but in reality he knew he didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt.

“So how do you know where the castle is?” The elder asked, tugging at his backpack straps a little nervously, as the road slowly turned into a dirt track. It seemed endless, and eventually ended up winding through a tall mesh of trees. Phil tried not to shiver as he kept his eyes on the forest ahead, but a bad feeling erupted in his stomach, blinking furiously to try to keep his mind off it. “And who is there to save you?”

“I saw it in my vision,” There’s a silence that follows the statement as the other boy scrutinises the crumbling track beneath his soles. “It’s through the forest, up the hill, and she’s waiting there to take me somewhere safe,” The soft brown eyes met his own, wide and innocent with this thick layer of hope inside them, as if stardust itself made up his DNA. Phil wasn’t sure he believed anything Dan was saying, but was so past being in love with his quirky best friend that even he would trek through the looming trees.

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” He voices nervously shaking hands winding through the backpack straps and clinging on so tightly that his knuckles whitened further. “Dan what if no one’s there?” But the younger boy shook his head stubbornly and continued walking, as if trying to completely ignore reason (something that he had mastered his entire life).

The forest is dark. The trees are like giants with long, winding arms and thick, gruesome bodies that cage the sky from their eyes. The leaves fall one by one as the walk past, their dead carcasses crunching underneath their soles as the sky began to darken. He was sure it had been midday, but very suddenly reality was starting to blur. As if sensing that he was uneasy, Dan reached for his hand “Reality means nothing in this forest, it’s where the universes touch, like a wrinkle in the skin of the fabric of space and time,” He looks over at the taller, whose eyes are suddenly onyx and his cheekbones suddenly more defined by mostly shadow. He looks like he belongs in this forest, his shoulders relaxed and eyes wide with wonder. There’s something terrifying and wonderfully attractive about him right now.

It makes sense when the darkness envelopes all that is behind them, like a save point that they can’t go past, to be hit by a wall of air. Something like determination prevents him from trying to find out. With the other man’s hand wrapped firmly in his own, he can feel the bump of every finger, the softness of his cold palm, and the scrape of blunt nails every time he fidgets. Internally, he wonders if the other will start to complain about a lack of blood circulation. He’s not scared, but suddenly he is.

There’s no reason bar the obvious for him to suddenly be so terrified, as if he’d just seen something that he can’t place. His eyes narrow and his heart begins to palpitate in his chest. A tight feeling surrounds his throat, and he looks to his companion for direction, only to find him calm and collected, his voice dripping like honey as he speaks. “It’s ok, they can’t hurt you, she won’t let them,” He wants to ask what won’t hurt him, but even as he looks around he’s met with nothing except a wall of sound, building up, brick by brick. He can’t _see_ anything. “Phil we gotta keep moving,” A hand tugs and he keeps walking forward, numb, whilst a noise that sounds like crying echoes in his skull. “Ignore it Phil, it will only hurt you if you listen,”

The noise fades away, like the edges of a photograph being burnt until there’s only ashes left. The forest seems to lose its darkness the deeper they go, and a question drips on his tongue with a weight. “Are we…Are we crossing into a different universe?” He stammers, as a light begins to peel over the trees. Dan remains silent, as if he’s scared of giving the truth. “We are aren’t we?” When his friend doesn’t offer him another answer, and just focuses on the floor, trudging along, he receives his answer and it at once blinded by panic and anger “Dan!”

“Yeah, we are,” It’s so casual, so flippant, as if this was a normal every day thing, and for a moment he forgets because for Dan, for the inside of his head, nothing was the way he saw it. Everything was converged on itself, timelines overlapped in his irises and everyday he experienced something that Phil will never have to experience. The inside of his head was an end of the world parade, whereas the elder still viewed everything in black and white. “Back through the forest is the way back to our world, if you go to any different direction, you end up in a different universe, this one is dead straight ahead, where I need to be, but it’s always dark along the path, she told me, that’s why I had to bring you, so I wouldn’t be scared,” His eyes are so innocent, so lost, that Phil almost forgets that he’s mad, the other truly can’t see why he would be upset, and it’s so bizarre that his mind works so differently. He just looks scared.

“It’s ok Danny, it’s just I’ve got to walk back through there alone and what do I tell your parents? What do I tell my parents? They’ll be heartbroken,” They stop, because Dan’s hands grab Phil’s, looking at his with this _look_ , this blank sort of **‘I have the perfect solution’** look, that Phil has seen so many times, and 9/10 it just is not the perfect solution.

“Stay with me, and then neither of us will get hurt, they’ll file a missing report, we’ll just have gone missing, we can start a new life here, with each other, we’ll be safe here and they won’t hurt us,” Phil tries to move his hands, but his friend simply interlinks their fingertips. Sweet, innocent and scared, his caramel eyes full of hope and desperation. He’s scared for them both, for the outcome of this journey; he’s being hunted, he can’t stay in their world, he needs to be trained, to harvest his power, but he’s not sure he can do that alone. “I love you,” It’s those three words, words he’s felt but never heard his entire life that slips passed his lips to the shocked face of Philip Lester. The man who felt everything in return. He didn’t have any other friends, but his family, his sweet mother, who would be devastated, his brother who would mourn him; could he really leave all that behind?

The soft press of Dan’s thumb against his wrist brings him back to Earth; he’s pulled close, his body colliding with his friend’s. The two of them stare, body heat exchanged in the crimson sunrise, before the soft press of one’s lips meets the other’s. The ebony haired man feels his cheeks heat up, his hands untangling from Dan’s to link around the other’s neck. They kiss in the early morning sunlight like they were characters from a novel, and feel each other’s heartbeat like they were a freshly written poem. The two of them, created for each other.

And Phil just can’t say no.

The hill hurts their legs as they climb, but they’re filled with both determination and adrenaline as they clamber up it clumsily, clinging onto each other every now and then to catch their breath. The green under their shoes seems to get taller, until it’s thick enough for them to be using as a method of climbing up the hill. At the top, they could see the caste, small but proud, with the stonework crumbling ever so slightly and ivy crawling up it like a lover returning home.

The doors are tall. The wood is rough and splintered, and it’s not a castle for a king, but for someone like Dan it was dream come true. They push, as watch it swing open into the darkness, an echo surrounding the halls as if someone was calling out for help, stepping inside, their footsteps carried out into the corridors surrounding the hall. “Hello?” Worry crossed the younger man’s face as he walks in, standing very still, before reaching out to touch the banister, trying to focus his thoughts to the feel of it. “She’s here somewhere,” he says gently “Or has been recently, I can still feel her here,” He races up the stairs, causing Phil to drop the bags next to the steps and race after him, as he began to open the doors, letting them slam noisily.

Until he stops. Dan goes still suddenly, startling his friend. He whips around, investigating the walls. His fingertips press and pull at the stonework, before pushing a stone right through. The lights flickered on, and the doors slammed shut, but the world inside the castle seemed to mutate. A curse sounded off Dan’s lips. “Dimension glamour, oh that’s cool,” And suddenly he was like a kid in a candy store as he heads for the stairway that wasn’t there previously. The carpets were suddenly royal red, and the chandeliers were hanging without cobwebs, like everything the castle would have been in it’s prime. “It was hidden as a run down castle, and it still will be for anyone that walks it, so that they can’t find her, or us, it’s like getting the future to meet the present, so it overrides the initial image the viewer gets,” Phil blinks, and nods slowly.

The door swings open, leaving the two boys stood in the doorway. A figure stands, facing away, clearly invested in a book on her lap, but the noise startles her and she looks up. A smile immediately curls across her face, dropping the book and running over to hug the young man. “Dan Howell, I’m so glad you’re here, I was so worried,” She runs a hand through her long black hair, smiling at the two. “You must be Phil, pleasure to meet you two, I was worried you would take the wrong pathway, or be lead away by the whispers in the forest,” She places a hand that feels motherly on either of the boy’s arms. “My name is Louise, and you’re our last hope,”

\--

Dan wasn’t crazy, as it seems, he was born with parents from differing worlds, giving him the ability to see into the other universes through his visions. Time was wound around his DNA, and fragments of the two worlds were embedded into his cells. “It also means you can bend time,” The woman explained, playing with her long blonde hair as she spoke. “You can travel through it, because the two universes converge time in order to meet, I don’t know the details, we’re going to help you harvest that power, and teach you both to fight, so you can defend yourself against what’s coming, you have powers that no one in the seven universes could have, we have waited for you through prophecy for generations, you will be our king, if that is something you’ll accept, and you will be trained to fight against the people who want to hurt you,”


	11. New Americana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phan and Septiplier. There's some smut in this one. 
> 
> Jack was an artist. He saw the world in a way that others did not, through colours that didn’t match their objects, and patterns that others couldn’t really see. Mark was a musician, but his anxiety prevented him from showing his art to the world. Meeting each other changed their perspectives, and the inspiration that was running out so quickly became restored. 
> 
> Phil loves to take photographs, he's never found humans appealing to photograph because they're so flawed. Until he meets this beautiful boy who wears flowers in his hair. He drags him into this world, so different from the real one, that smells of smoke and unpaid bills. (Loosely inspired by Rent also)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT. IMPLIED PREVIOUS THREESOME. IMPLIED FOURSOME. THIS IS AT FAULT OF THE DAN/JACK/PHIL TWEETS. SET IN EARLY 2000's ish in New York. They're all poor, but they work things out.

Phil had all but grown up with Mark from the age of 18, he was a few years older but acted so much younger, simply because age was just a concept he wasn't prepared to celebrate. Bu the time Mark had reached his twenties, Phil was halfway through and ready to start lying about his age. They owned a flat together that was the cheapest in the town but still more demanding in terms of rent than they could afford.  The younger was trying his best, his music was selling but his anxiety prevented him from ever performing it, keeping him a mystery man in the shadows behind the mechanisms of his work. The taller man, who was an aspiring photographer, had displays in the local art galleries, but the pay was cheap as they were so desperate to get all the recognition they needed to kick start their career. 

When Mark met Jack, it was like watching a romance movie, as the two tangled themselves up in a web of their mediums, fighting each other for the better inspiration. Phil would wake up early hours of the morning to hear them screaming or moaning, never particularly happy to hear either. The man with lime colored hair was loud, and energetic, bouncing through their lives like a hurricane, his hands always stained with charcoal and red paint, his eyes always alight with a new fire. Both of them envied the Irishman's ability to stay concentrated, fixated on his new work, and able to channel everything he could into every piece. Sometimes, Phil and Jack would work together, but no matter what, every inspiration seemed to end back at Mark, leaving the musician to be a model for their joint efforts. The British man didn't like to Photograph people, he thought people were flawed and not at all beautiful like a sunrise, or petals painted with water droplets. 

It wasn't that quick though,and a good place to start is with the American man's very brief tale. He grew up in a rather strict family in Cincinnati, with parents who disapproved of his artistic wishes. He went to college for engineering, but upon discovering that this was really not what he wanted, argued with his parents until he packed his things and hiked his way over to New York. Figuratively speaking. There, he found an ad for a young photographer looking for a roommate. The two didn't clash as Phil was gentle and quiet, and only sometimes asked for some quiet or alone time. The British boy had been orphaned there from a young age, by his travelling parents and had only just left the cover of the orphanage to brave the real world. 

For the past few months leading up to Mark meeting Jack, the other was moping around, his eyes were a desolate hole lacking any depth or shine, his lips were dry and cracked and his face was unshaven, lined with exhaustion. He would pick up a guitar and cry in frustration, to the point where he'd demand his roommate leave him alone. Phil could only watch as his friend lost himself in between realities, sometimes he was awake and asleep at the same time, crying out for a family that had all but disowned him. He didn't eat unless Phil forced him, and passed out often from lack of hydration. For a whole month he refused to leave his bed and would go whole days without waking up. To say the elder man feared for his friends life was an understatement, as he hauled the other out of bed, forced him to shower and took him to the coffee shop. 

There was when a pivotal moment came to be. Phil knew that Jack didn't physically pull Mark from depression. But the way his eyes lit up when he saw this loud, green haired man, jumping from order to order, with paint staining his arms as if it was his branding, that was the first time he'd seen him encouraged. Although Phil urged his friend to speak to the Irish barista, he didn't, and instead went home and wrote a song about a boy with baby blue eyes and the widest smile. The trips to the coffee shop became regular, until one day Mark finally found courage to ask this man his name. A giggle escaped the younger and crimson dusted his cheeks, but the smile that crossed him was worth a whole songbook. Mark began to write daily, and soon started to take Jack home to show them. Bringing him home turned to overnight stays. Overnight stays turned into moans beneath the sheets. Occasionally, they would invite Phil to join them, whilst the Irishman allowed some sweet smelling smoke to fill their dorms. If they were high enough, Phil would agree, but generally he would leave their relationship to them. 

Jack slowly moved in, over the space of three or four months, his clothes started to fill up the draws, his canvases lining the walls, a little more life came to dreary life the three had previously lead. He was happy to have the two as his friends, but the day Jack moved in for real, was the day he'd never felt so alone. The British man gave the two some space, his heavy boots clattering against the pavement as he leans against a wall outside. Smoke curls from his lips and his eyes train on the floor as he thinks of Mark's happiness, of how low he was feeling before he had that help, that inspiration to write again. He looks down at his slightly battered camera that hangs from around his neck. He wished he had someone to inspire him, but humans were flawed, no human could inspire his art. 

\--

It was exactly three months since Jack had moved in, and as it turned out, the artist was an excellent cook, and between the three of them they could just make the rent on their mismatched jobs with odd payment times. Jack worked shifts at the cafe as well as selling his art; Mark worked at the corner shop and wrote in between customers whereas Phil had managed to secure a job in the same place where his photography was being displayed, showing guests around the different exhibitions. 

That's where he met him.

Meeting Dan Howell was his pivotal moment, he was stood there in faded gray jeans with rips around the knees, a white shirt buttoned right to his neck, the color startling against his tan skin. A baggy pink sweater hung off his shoulders as if he was supposed to drown in it, the sleeves hanging over his knuckles and curled against his palms. Atop a mop of curly brown hair, sat a precarious flower crown that looked as if it were in danger of falling off any second, held in place by what Phil must assume was some hairpins somewhere. His eyes were soft and curious as they stared up at the work surrounding him, a small smile revealing a little dimple in his cheek. The British man has never ever wanted to take a picture of a person, until he saw him stood there, with the light bouncing off his face. He remembers Mark's nerves, how he didn't speak to Jack for weeks and weeks. Finally he understands what it's like to be nervous because of another person. 

Their eyes meet, and he feels his pale skin redden, causing the other's smile to widen, the dimple becoming more prominent. His hands itch towards his camera, wanting to capture that beautiful expression, but it would seem creepy to just take a picture of someone. The man walks towards him, gliding as if he could cut the air with his shoulders. "Hi," The world seems to stop, the ebony haired man feels his breath run out, their eyes meet as the name tumbles from his lips, embedding itself in his mind "I'm Dan," There's a pause, and the elder wants so desperately to introduce himself, but he's forgotten what words are in the smooth brown orbs staring at him.

"Phil," He whispers in reply. "Lester,"

\--

The photographer regains control of his ability to speak as they talk about their work, until eventually he asks the other to come back home with him. The two barely make it through the door before they're joined at the lips, Phil's camera lays on the beside as they both tumble to the sheets. Jack and Mark aren't home, but he doubts it'd make a difference as the two fight furiously for some dominance; the cobalt eyed man wins but still lets the younger crawl up his body, grinding down against his crotch until they were both panting. It continues like this for a while, until they finally get their clothes off. Dan's lying there, with the sunlight streaming across his body, panting and flushed, eyes heavily lidded with pupils blown wide with lust.  Phil couldn't resist grabbing his camera this time. He's never seen someone so beautiful in his life. 

He grabs another picture when Dan's on top of him, body moving as if he were made to be there, the other releases and his eyes close, lips parted, he wished the photo could capture the beautiful sound that will reside in his head forever. The younger asks later if those pictures will end up in a gallery, and Phil respectfully tells him that only with his consent will those photos leave to the outside world. 

\--

Dan meets Jack and Mark in his boxers, curls astray with a little bit of dried cum at the corner of his lip. He doesn't care and they just laugh. He's handed a self rolled cigarette by the one with green hair, whilst the redhead rolls his eyes and cracks open a window. The four of them smoke and drink, and lose far more clothes than originally planned in childish party games that reminded them of the teenage years they never really had. No one really paused to ask Dan for his story, but no one really cared. At this point it wasn't where they'd been, but where they were going. By the end of the nigh they'd all tasted each other lips through whiskey and vodka. In the morning they woke up curled around their respective partners, but didn't doubt that they probably hadn't been with only them all night. No one remembered. 

The youngest boy woke up to Nirvana playing through the speakers, and decided to lend a helping hand to the Irishman with making pancakes. The other two men stumbled in dazedly after a while, still a little drunk from the night before. Thankfully none of them had work, and instead sat on the tabletop, waiting for breakfast to be cooked. They hoped to see Dan again (Spoilers: they did) as eventually he showered, dressed and headed out back to his home. It seemed like a happily ever after, even if they were still paying for rent for the last two months, they were doing better in themselves. Phil did put the photographs in his next exhibition, one which got both a lot of backlash and interest. It also got him paid the most money for it's controversial settings. It was titled "The Perfect Human," And described how Dan was the only human he'd ever photographed, and therefore a perfect human. 

Jack helped Mark with his anxiety, and finally started playing small gigs whilst Jack and Dan opened up a small cafe after a year of planning, rationing and putting their money together, in which Jack also sold his work in. People could buy the artwork off the walls that he'd created. Sometimes Phil and Mark did summer jobs there. Mark finally got together enough money to go back to college for Music Technology. Phil was happy simply existing alongside his lover after a while, jobs and money seemed to blur in favour of him. 


	12. Haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation warning. Slightly angsty ngl. Past unhealthy relationship and drug use.

Haunting

Jack’s moved on from him. He tells himself this every day, when he thinks of running his hands through crimson locks, and pressing his lips against chapped ones; he tells himself this when he thinks of dark skin and low chuckles, with puppy dog eyes and tired sex because by the end of the day that’s all they are- exhausted. He doesn’t miss him. No, not at all. After all that man turned and walked out on him because he just couldn’t handle raised voices every now and then.

He hadn’t wanted to make it work.

But the Irishman had moved on, he’d met a new guy, who was perfection in every way; with a golden smile and the sweetest heart and money pouring out of his pockets. They weren’t exhausted trying to make ends meet, and their arguments were dealt out like adults. They talked it out, they kissed and made up. Alex’s lips were always soft, his hands weren’t calloused, and he didn’t explode with rage whenever he got too worked up. His hair was a soft brown and his eyes were like honey in the afternoon sunlight. He had tattoos on the backs of his hands, and looked after Jack with all he had. Jack loved him. Alex loved Jack.

But they were both aware that the lime haired man loved his past lover too, and they were ok with it, sometimes it hurts to love, and sometimes it never really fades. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, and that was ok. Sometimes the younger feels so bad, because his lover was giving him everything, and he could only give him half of himself.

At 6AM in the morning, he thinks of Mark’s hands on his thighs, he thinks of these feverish kisses and bruises on his thighs. He thinks of how pure, brutal and unadultered their love was. He thinks of their laughs when they were underneath sweet smelling smoke, believing they could touch the stars. But they were kids, teenagers who believed love could last forever if they wanted it. The arguments got worse, until they were leaving everything behind. No matter how much he tries to brush off Mark, he knows he will continue to haunt his dreams.

Alex is away for the weekend, and his fingertips hover over a familiar number, staring at it with his lip between his teeth. “Fuck,” He cusses, and throws the phone onto his bed. He can’t bring himself to call it, nor delete it. A vicious circle again and again. He doesn’t want Mark back, not really, he’s happy with what he has now, he misses what came with his past- the childish relationship, making mistakes, making themselves, building himself up. He hates the fact he’s grown now, and can’t turn back from what he’s become. But he also doesn’t want the other completely to go, he wants his ghost to live in his head, to remember what they had. And maybe, when they’ve fixed themselves up in a couple more years, maybe even be friends.

They weren’t looking for each other when they’d met. Jack would never speak to any of his new friends, the crowd he’s with now, about his teenage years. The fact he was high for most of it, wouldn’t talk about Felix or Danny, or Arin, and the parties they’d go too. That was a whole different group of people, those were Mark’s friends. To give him props, Felix had called so many times after the breakup, wanting to know he was ok, but the other’s all just sided with Mark. He cut off those ties, upped and left, rooted himself in Baltimore and never looked back.

It’s 10PM and he’s tugging at the sheets, his eyes are closed and he’s tugging at his cock slowly. His body shakes, his lips part and soft sighs tumble from his lips. For a while it’s Alex he sees, and then it’s Mark. Of course it is. He goes with it, not giving himself enough time to hate himself as he came with a shout of his ex-lover’s name. Jack cleans himself off and wraps himself in his shame, a conversation with himself echoes throughout the hallways.

He doesn’t miss Mark, not in the literal sense, he misses the sex, he misses the spice, and he misses his love. But no, he’d never go back with him, never. Their relationship was fucked up, it was violent and relied on drugs more than their actual personalities, it was made from Jack’s sex addiction and Mark’s stash of weed. Not from actual love. Yes, they loved each other, but that wasn’t what their relationship was built on. The foundation was addiction and the cracks in the roof was their love for each other.

It was fate that they broke up, for the best really.

But he can still see Mark’s smile every time someone mentions happiness.


	13. Ghost

Dan isn’t entirely sure you can miss someone who is sleeping next to you every night. At this point, the brunet feels like he’s searching for things that he can’t really have because Phil wasn’t really the sort of person you could tie down. The elder had constantly told him he was no good for him, through fights and shouting and cursing, they’d come to the conclusion together that they weren’t good for each other. But after kisses and bed sheets tangled around their hips, after sweet ‘I love you’s’ and holding hands and kissing in the rain, they reminded themselves that love wasn’t supposed to be easy.

He noticed the other changing. The brightness that he’s always been, the hurricane, the enigma, began to fade. He became vacant, like he was fading from a beautiful rainbow into black and white. Dan didn’t know what to do with these situation, as his fingertips danced over his lover’s arms, he watched his soft blue eyes close. There was no light in the cerulean there, there was nothing but a vacant look in those beautiful irises. If he didn’t know better, Dan would say he was dead.

And perhaps he was, not literally, but there only seemed to be a ghost sleeping inside of Phil right now.

The two dance around each other, the fighting ceases and the younger man things he preferred it over this newfound silence between them. There was nothing, no fight, no intense words; there was absolutely no passion in their relationship anymore. Everything they were, was slipping away, to a point where Dan never realized he’d miss hearing the words “I hate you,” tumbling from his lips. He misses seeing a fire in his lover’s eyes, he misses bruises on his thighs, and being on the edge.

Perhaps they were growing up. Perhaps they were getting old. Maybe they’d just had their run, of leaving and crawling back to each other, of shouting matches in the early morning, of hating and loving each other simultaneously. Maybe their relationship was toxic and they were only just realizing. Dan blinked; he had never thought of it that deeply. The relationship they had could be seen by others as toxic. He’d been so caught up in enjoying it that he hadn’t noticed.

He’d never liked innocent people, or soft people, he needed someone who will rile him up, someone who will take control and make him feel small. He liked that. He liked to feel as if he had little power, his anxiety made doing little things hard, so someone could always make those decisions for him. That way he’s never to blame. But it ran deeper that, to a point where he enjoyed it when Phil put a fist through the wall just to scare him, he enjoyed the way his heart skipped a beat, the way he could physically feel his eyes grow wide.

Bruises. The first time Phil ever left a bruise on him wasn’t because he hit him, of course not, but he gripped his wrists too tight whilst pinning him to the bed. The bruise took three days to fade, and Dan demanded he gave him more once it did. This was passion to him, to physically feel something to make up for how little else he felt something other than worry and crippling existentialism. No one understands how his mind works, how he’d be panicking if it wasn’t Phil, he trusted him to not go too far, to know him. And he always had, always known his limits, had dragged him into a hug when it got too much in the midst of an argument.

Without that spark, that anger, that fire, their relationship just wasn’t the same. 

Staring down at his lover, Dan takes in his soft eyes, the way they stare up at the ceiling and knows it's possible they've reached their max line now. There was no point forcing what just wouldn't happen. That was a one way ticket to a bitter ending and exhaustion. Their kisses were running out of steam and their words were weak, mixed with a lack of enthusiasm; the spark that was there was flickering as if it sensed a bucket of water about to drop onto it, and put out it's light (If their relationship had ever had a light, now that he sits and thinks, Dan's not sure Phil ever loved him). 

He's right, of course he is. When Phil admits in a storm that he's done, he's exhausted, that he needs a new life. The younger isn't surprised at all, ever since he met Phil the first time around, he'd known they wouldn't last forever. It just wasn't the sort of person the ebony haired man was. He wasn't made for one place or one time, he wasn't made for faithfulness or truth. He was a man that escaped the confinements of human emotion, it just wasn't the sort of person he was to fall in love. Dan was ok, mostly, he'd expected this and had since the beginning to prepare himself as he watches his lover walk out the door. He was happy he'd had the chance to experience their back and forth relationship, that he'd got to see inside his soul for a little while. Even if he has to let him go now, it was worth ever having him at all. 

After all, Phil had been gone a long time, in reality. He just wasn't there even when he was. He was a ghost of the man he'd once been. It was for the best for him to leave and become himself again.


	14. Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadtrip!AU Mark picks up a stranger stood at the side of the road with bright green hair and a tired smile. Set in the UK.
> 
> Yes this chapter has smut.

The space between ten and eleven on a warm summer's night is the best time to be awake. The sky was a darkening picture of pastel pinks and blues, all mingling and intertwining as if joined together to say goodnight to the sun for now. The breeze is soft and warm, and the night is fast approaching as the world becomes quiet and hums gently to accept the company of a passer-by. A young man walked alongside the cracked and dirty road, watching the dirt cling to him as the tall grass brushed against the back of his hand. His green hair feels greasy and sticky from sweat and rain and sun, all of which he had experienced in this day alone. His pale, bare arms felt the cool brush of the wind's fingertips, as if to cool down the feeling of hopelessness and disgust that he was currently feeling. Cars drove by, and none of them paid any mind to his tired expression, never mind his silent please for help. 

The Irishman is exhausted, and picking out dirt from his distressed hair as he continues to walk. All he needs is to be dropped off at the nearest motel, a shower would be most welcome in his state. He doesn't want trouble, he's not even asking for a diversion in someone's path. He's just not sure he'll make it on his own two legs in time. The feel of headlights on his back cause him to turn drowsily and halfheartedly extend his hand as if asking for the driver to stop. He's not expecting for the person to actually do that, as for the last few hours people have been driving past him and refusing him help. However when the driver pulls up alongside of the road and rolls down his window, the other offers a weak and tired smile. "Where do you need to be, kid?" The man asks, offering a kind smile. 

"Just the nearest motel...I've been walking for days..." He muttered in exhaustion as the other indicates to his door and opens it with ease. Eagerly, the celadon haired man  clambered into the passenger seat, his backpack sliding between his knees as he rushed out hurried sentences that somehow made up 'thank you' in each and every way. His accent seemed to confuse the other, as it took a moment for him to un-furrow his eyebrows and smile patiently at the newcomer. "I'm Jack," The man continues, his cerulean eyes looking still grateful, albeit exhausted, as they studied his driver. "I'm from Ireland,"

"I can tell," As Jack studies the man, he takes in every detail he can. His hair looks soft but dying as the roots are a dark brown, like the color of a hardwood table that's been overused, but the tips are a fiery mix of vermilion and crimson, mixed with blood orange and a color that makes it look as if his hair is afire. His skin is like caramel, or another warm color, that makes it seem as if he glows in the setting sun, which catches both his sculptured jawlines and straining muscles quite perfectly. The man's eyes are a heavy brown, and shaped with a curve that could only be of Asian descent. The man's accent would tell Jack, however, that he was an American. He doesn't want to think the man is beautiful, not because he is scared of his sexuality, but because they won't know each other in the very near future. "My name's Mark," And _fuck_ , that voice, it's deep but not at all harsh or intimidating, a soft rumbling baritone that one would associate with power and respect. The Irishman decides not to think about it too hard, and instead focuses on fiddling with his bag straps. 

"What brings you out here? Visiting someone?" Mark shrugs, studying the road for something that wasn't there, mostly trying to thing of an answer that wouldn't tell his new companion why he was here, simply without lying. "Sorry if it's-if I'm..." Jack trails off, resting his head against the window in defeat, he's never been good at talking, him and his sister used to joke about it all the time, how socially inept he was. It's less fun when no-one's around to talk for you. Now it just seems like the curse that God intended it to be, that it was given to him for. 

"I'm running away," The American admits into the silence. "But I live in the UK if that's what you mean, I live in Manchester, which is about 2 hours back the way you came, so I've not been on the run for very long," His voice is laced with humor, before his eyes meet Jack's "And what about you? Ireland is a trip over a pretty big puddle, so what brings you here?" Jack captures his bottom lip between his teeth in thought, he's not sure he wants to give his story either, so his response is just as vague as he pauses fiddling with the strap to look back at the other. 

"Guess I'm running away too,"

\--

Mark suggests that if they're both going to be travelling for a while, they might as well split the cost and share a room for a motel rather than spending more than they could individually afford on one room. Now they also had more food between the two of them, so the only downside to this current situation was the fact they didn't know each other. They were basically strangers. 

Jack makes use of the shower, which feels like returning home into the watery warm arms of safety. He watches the water run red and brown and black as the dirt is scraped from his body. The shampoo that is left behind in a tiny bottle is washed through his bright green hair, and some of the tint comes away in his hands. The soap feels inviting against his reddening skin, that had previously been cold and frost bitten, and now felt like it was stinging from heat. But he liked it, hes never felt warmer than he does right now, not a worry for water bills as his fee had been paid, and instead curling up beneath the hot spray. The Irishman doesn't want to leave, feeling safe away from the world in this watery bubble, no care for anything else that might happen as he watches bubbles drift down the drain from his skin. 

Eventually he steps out, drying off his hair that feels soft and damp under his fingertips now instead of wiry and greasy. Rubbing the towel along his body, he makes sure he's as dry as he can get, not wanting a cold to greet him the next morning, before wrapping the towel around his waist and heading into the main room to sort through his backpack for clean clothes. He only had three different outfits, so he knew he'd have to wash the clothes he'd been wearing and throw them in a plastic bag to dry. Jack doesn't notice his companion eyeing his slender body as he bend over to pull some boxers up under his towel, before throwing it on the bed to sort out the rest of his clothes. Mark grabs the towel, it being the only one the hotel room had to offer, before disappearing into the bathroom. 

The younger man sighs with exhaustion, picking dirt off his other shirt, deciding that putting on clean clothes would be a waste as they'd be worn and crumpled by the morning. He listens to the run of the water and closes his eyes, allowing the sound to calm him from his cluttered and frantic mind, instead lying back on the bed and enjoying the quiet. The stillness. His busy life for the last few days had been scary and wild. Mark's phone buzzes on the dresser, vibrating wildly, interrupting his silence to receive a low growl of discontent from the Irishman. He slides off his bed to turn off the phone, to see a message pop up. 'Come home, I miss you,' It causes him to furrow his eyebrows, but the younger man doesn't question it. It's not his business.

When Mark comes out, Jack washes his clothes in the sink and hangs them on the bathroom rail to dry. 

When he gets in bed he knows Mark has read the text because he can feel his shoulders shake next too him. 

\--

The next morning, it's Jack that suggests they stick together until one of them has to go home. "We have more money and more food together, it makes sense," And it does, so the elder agrees, with his phone tucked in his pocket and his bag already on his back. Jack is tempted to take another shower, but instead balls his still damp, but clean clothes into a plastic bag before heading back out to the car. "So where are we heading?" He hums out, watching the world drive by him, ignorant to his story and his life, which was most likely for the best. "If we've been driving for two hours and- you have no idea where we're going do you?" Mark bites his lip and looks over, clearly trying to conceal a grin. Jack laughs, and leans back "Ok, I guess we end up wherever we end up," Where they end up in by the seaside, two and a bits hours away from Manchester and watching ducks squawk in protest as they are chased by children. 

"Bridlington?" The Irishman tries to read off the sign, before raising an eyebrow and looking back at the half-Asian, who shrugs, clearly never been or heard of this place before. "It's cute, I like it," Mark resist making a flirty pun about how the other is cute, and he certainly likes him. Or specifically his company. The company he'd been running away from had mostly been a mistake, and the result of what happens when your parents make your life decisions. He sighs and digs his hands into his pockets, feeling the weight of an object that he wants no part of. When Jack runs off to buy them both a plate of chips for lunch, he holds the object up to the light, and watches it bend around it. Losing track of time, as he watches the shimmer and beauty of a thing so ugly, eventually he hears a cough and looks around. "If yer thinkin' o' throwing tha' in't sea, forget it, tha' worth more money than my life's savings," His accent thickens as he pulls a stern expression, making Mark think that perhaps he's joking. 

"So...runaway groom then?" The other sits beside him, feet dangling over the edge of the stone wall, resting his arms on the bar as the green waves rose up to tap his shoes. The azure eyed man plucks a chip from his plate and studies Mark, plopping the chip into his mouth before reaching over and taking the ring from his hand, sliding it onto his finger. "Fits perfectly," He continues to eat his food, whilst his companion stares on, dumbfounded, begging to eat his chips after a moment of silence. They don't talk about the topic further from that, which clearly relieves the elder man. 

\--

Night time is beginning to approach, as they spent the day kicking up sand and watching the waves crash and fall, Jack's head rests on Mark's shoulder as fireworks went off near a small attraction park at the end of the strip. The cocoa eyed man feels the thinner boy shiver and tucks him under his arm, bringing him close to his body heat; Jack snuggles into his side and smiles to himself, enjoying the closeness to another person that he'd almost never felt before. He sighs into the slowly fading light, watching the sun dip below it's horizons. There's plenty of small, cheap, independent bed and breakfasts that they could book into; just not for a while. They enjoy the colors lighting up the sky, and more importantly the ignorance to the life they must eventually return to. The ring fits better on jack's finger than it ever did on hers. Mark doesn't voice this at all. 

\--

They check in at a bed and breakfast owned by a small young woman who was bouncing and smiling, cheeks flushed the moment she laid eyes on Mark. Behind him, Jack shuffled whilst this pretty young blonde very heavily flirted with him. He wasn't bothered by the fact he was flirting with the other man, as much as he knew he just wasn't appealing to anyone. A melancholy feeling settled in his stomach that made his bright blue eyes well up. He was never good enough. Anxiety and paranoia rose like an eager demon throughout his body, ripping up and down his veins until they made a mess of his mind. "Can I just have the key?" He asks quietly, staring at the floor, voice devoid of any emotion, despite the light crack it makes at the back of his throat. Just like that the half-Asian snaps out of his conversation and looks worriedly at Jack, his arm coming around his waist, before looking up at the girl expectantly. She smiles and hands him the key, clearly not wanting to come between them, and wishes them a nice night. 

The moment they get too their room, the elder man's arms are securing the smaller man to his chest. He doesn't ask questions, because he knows he won't like the answers and Jack is simply not in a state to answer them. But when he feels the small man shake and cry against his chest, hands balled up in his shirt, he think he might actually understand heartbreak. He doesn't stop crying for about fifteen minutes, before wiping his eyes, cheeks red and eyes lined with the telltale signs that he was trying to hide. Neither of them speak as they strip down too their boxers and clamber into bed together. 

The darkness is an invitation as the Irishman curls up into the grasp of his new friend, as if they'd known each other so much longer than a day, or perhaps forever. If either of them believed their friendship would last beyond this little trip, then they might've actually cared. Mark does, however, admire  the length of Jack's thick, curling eyelashes, and find peace in the soft breathing of the other as he slept; he studied the way the other's hair fell and the dainty curve of his nose, he tried with much effort not to smile as the ring on his slender finger glimmered in the pale, milky moonlight. He'd have to take that back at some point, there was someone else that belonged too. 

Speak of the devil, his phone vibrates on the bedside table, the light indicating a message. 'I love you,' It reads, with the name of a girl he'd been told to love. Tears well up and he buries his head in the soft lawn of the smaller man's hair. Silently, he wishes he could suffocate in it. 

\--

The next morning the continue as if nothing happened, with the youngest bouncing around on the balls of his feet, his hands going to grab Mark's wrists as he hurriedly shows him a map. "We have enough money to go around, go down this way and then back up," He pauses, grinning up at his friend. "That will take you back to Manchester," There's silence and the elder man stares at the younger, who is all happy smiles and shining diamond eyes. They're both avoiding the question that should be asked 'And what about you?' and it stays unanswered. It's far away anyways. 

Their new destination doesn't arrive for a while. The long road is like a highway to a place neither of them care about. It's not really the destination they care about, it's the running they find the thrill in. Jack confirms this as he opens the sun window and slides his lithe body out of it, laughing manically as he lets the wind come his hair back down a deserted road three times the legal speed limit. Mark is laughing from the drivers seat, blasting music out the speakers so much louder than legally allowed. The wind is his boost, the open road is his friend and whatever lies in his past is his enemy. The Irishman simply does not care as he allows this moment to play on repeat infinitely, exhilarated with adrenaline pumping through him like a drug. He's never felt so happy, so free, like the stretched wings of a once caged bird as he takes to the sky so far away from his problems. Eventually, however, he slides back into the passenger seat, afraid of being caught, but they still laugh together, giggling over his mishaps. 

"So why'd you leave her?" Jack asked finally, staring at the ring on his finger, playing with it so the light bounced off at different angles and lit up the roof. "Was she just really bad in bed?" he snorts, unable to help himself, his cobalt eyes glittering as the music lowers and he finds his eyes focusing on the man next to him. There's a silence that drags and the younger worries he's overstepped a boundary, and that his new and possibly only friend really did not want to talk about it. Anxiety pricked at his bloodstream and immediately he sat up straight and began to play with his bag strap, his leg bounced anxiously, causing him to stare at the open road like it was very suddenly and over looming enemy, about to pounce. 

"No," The silence was broken. "I just never wanted to marry her," The words leave so many more questions unanswered, causing the American to sigh and turn down the volume dial further so he didn't ever have to repeat any of this story. "My parents wanted children, so they told me I either find a nice girl soon or they will stop paying for me to live in their house, I couldn't afford it at the time, so I proposed, now that I can afford to stand on my own two feet, I can't just abandon her, so I ran," His fingers grip the steering wheel like a murderer too his weapon, knuckles white and jaw clenched in a beautiful image of such a disgusting emotion. The Irishman knows he shouldn't be thinking about this right now, knows he shouldn't do what he wants, but he still does it. Reaching over, he places a hand over Mark's, offering him some comfort.

"It's your parents she should be angry at, you had no choice,"

There's a silence. That's the end of the conversation.

\--

They arrive at their destination, in true fashion, at 8PM, they refill petrol and book a hotel room that's cheap and pretty shitty looking, but it'll do. The world seems quiet, children are walking off home with their parents and the early night is a warm welcome. Tonight the sky is not pink or orange, but a turquoise that shines brilliantly in the reflection of Jack's eyes. Not that it's an excuse for beauty, because Mark knows that Jack is beautiful, although the other man did not, and was the mere reason for him curling up alone in the hotel room with tears in his eyes the night before. 

They sit on a bench with their own food, because they couldn't constantly afford buying things outside. They know that in a few days they will have to part, and most certainly shouldn't get too attached. But phones existed for a reason, and they surely wouldn't just drop off the Earth away from each other right? Picking at bread and talking about meaningless things, they discover they are just as attached to each other as they feared. Mark tells Jack that he's half Korean, half German, born in Hawaii and grew up in Cincinnati, USA. He goes on to say that he's bisexual, and suddenly it becomes trivia between the two of them, who could spill the most facts. Until finally he asks the big question "So...what are you running from?"

The two of them sit in silence for a moment, their bags by their feet with Jack resting against Mark's shoulder. "I came out to my family," The Irishman started, and his voice sounds so strong that the elder man fears he is breaking. "They didn't take it so well, so I cleared off, I knew I was no longer wanted," He tilts his head to look at the American with wide orbs that seemed to hold the sky inside them. "I hopped on a plane with pretty much all my money, ending up walking from the middle of nowhere to...the middle of nowhere," A chuckle rumbles low from his throat, but it's oh-so humorless and so very bitter. "Which brings me to this, when you go off to Manchester, I'll probably find someone else to hitch hike with, I won't have enough money for my own place and-," He looks down at his hands. "But it was nice knowing you, either way,"

"We'll figure something out," Mark mutters, but he has no ideas and he's just grasping at straws eagerly. "We have to,"

\--

The next day they spend on the road for a short period of time, and stop off randomly at a small cafe with little boats along a river next to it. "People live in those," Jack sighs in disbelief, "Like...there's no wifi," Mark snorts, unable to help himself, before leaning on each other. The two watch the boats drift pass whilst licking ice creams, trying to avoid each other's eyes because they know their secrets will be revealed if they do. The sun isn't harsh, and instead lights up the river, shimmering across as if the timid waves were made of diamonds. A family of ducks swim past, leaving the two to smile sweetly at the tiniest duckling that seemed to have trouble keeping up. Both of them internally related it to themselves, but said nothing. 

They walk along the river for a while, appreciating the quiet whistles of bird and low hum of distant civilization. The water ripples make a calming background for a conversation that isn't occurring, whilst the beauty of wildlife made Jack feel more at home than uneasy. Nature always reminded him of Ireland, it was all he really had, ten acres of field and a large forest with a few animals that made him feel less alone. He smiles ad sits at the edge of the bank, looking down at the water. His head rests on Mark's shoulder, and tries to will away the thought of how easy it would be just to lean up and kiss him. He can't pretend he doesn't want to know what the other tastes like, if his lips are rough or soft. He ignores it and dashes stones off the surface of the river. 

Once they're back in the car, the Irishman puts his head against the cool window and falls fast asleep, whilst mark asks himself why he didn't just kiss him. 

\--

It's 11PM when they get to a hotel, they're three days in now, but it's feeling like weeks with the amount they cover per day. They're both tired and drowsy, and collapse into bed. Their bodies immediately curl up against each other's; the pale tint of the Irishman's skin is a beautiful contrast to the honey color of Mark's. They were both cold and under the covers they seek warmth, legs intertwined as instinct controlled them over than their sleeping brains. If anyone were too see them, they'd think they were lovers, wound up around each other like Yin and Yang. 

\--

Day four was a train wreck. Jack woke up early to snag a shower before Mark, and found himself surrounding in the warm bubble that he had previously allowed himself into. Safe inside the curtains of water that slid along his spine and protected him from the world. Warmth brewed in his heart and his eyes closed happily, sinking away from complications and life after this road trip. Where he'd go and what he'd do. Whether or not he'd stay in contact with the man that had somehow changed his life in exactly four and a bit days. The soap is a welcome friend against his tired muscles, as he watches the bubbles swirl down the drain. Nothing but the sound of humming and water running down the drain was heard throughout the apartment. Until it wasn't. 

A loud shout sounded from the main room, where Mark had previously been asleep. And whatever it was sounded very, very angry. Almost immediately jack shuts off the water and grabs his towel, scraping off the excess water and wrapping the fluffy white towel around his waist. What he's greeted with makes him step back a little, not to admire, but to fear. Mark has his phone in his grasp with curse words streaming out of his mouth over the phone, his eyes are red from crying and shouting, his face is twisted into a mask of hatred and the words that tumble off his tongue taste like poison. "Fuck off," Is the latest sentence that growls out of his lips "No, you can stop fucking controlling me, I will marry who I want when I fucking want it," The phone looks like it might soon shatter in his iron grip. "I don't fucking care my job pays for my house, I don't need you, and I certainly don't need her," And just like that the phone call is over and the phone is on the bed. 

Mark stands in the center of the room, facing the wall, his shoulders are shaking and his head is bowed, with the early morning sunshine causing him to glow like an idol under the lights of the stage. He could be a god or some broken protagonist in a shitty romcom. Sweat makes his skin shine as he turns to look at Jack, who is stood there looking lost and scared, both their eyes are a little red; it takes two seconds for Mark to cross the room, his eyes fixated on those beautiful cobalt blues, his hand cupping the smaller man's jaw and running his thumb over his bottom lip. 

He just doesn't care anymore. And he presses their lips together. 

Mark tastes like sleep, like sleep and exhaustion and a little salty from tears. He feels warm and safe, like an early morning shower, like his arms were castle walls, protecting him from all harm. Jack tasted like soap and water and shook like the cold itself. But he felt soft and right in his arms, as the ring glimmered on his finger still, and the early morning crimson bathed them both in it's light. It's short but it feels like forever, just their lips pressing together, their eyes fluttering shut to feel it between their connection. And then it's over, and the two stare at each other with this sad soft of smile. Finally they've found each other. Soon they must part. 

\--

They start heading home, because Mark's worries were catching up with him, he had to finish his parents out of his life, as well as break the news to his would-be fiancee that his parents were the only reason he ever loved her. The younger man was at a loss, he had no idea what to do or what was wanted of him, only that very soon he would be alone again. All they did was drive, ignoring what they wanted to really say because they know it would hurt. Silence overwhelms them, until the radio is switched on and they took it as a sign they shouldn't speak at all to each other. 

The road is like dust and it sprays behind them like their friendship, getting further and further away from what they each wanted and couldn't have. They just were not destined for each other. Mark didn't deserve someone who was only half there, he deserved someone who could help him, financially and emotionally, not a man who was trying to piece together himself. The sun was like dripping blood in the sky, burning bright and dead ahead. Internally the crimson haired man wishes he could drive straight off the road and into it's embrace, it might be the only warmth he's ever known. His acquaintance falls asleep, head resting against the cool window as the sunlight casts shadows on the clouds, making them look like angry monsters hovering in the air.  Jack doesn't care, but the driver shifts uncomfortably as he stares at them, his stomach a whirlpool as he tries to focus on the darkening road. 

Eventually the Irishman comes too, stirs and stares out the window, to his reflection in the rear view mirror. His eyes look dark, and ready to fill, the soft cobalt blue faded into what could be anguish or disappointment. They still don't talk, ignoring the skip in their hearts when they kissed, or how much they wished there had been more. The sunset had lost it's comfort, leaving the two of them in silence at the mercy of the dark, waiting for something. Anything. Avoiding what was on the tips of their tongues, that they wished to confess.

In the hotel room, all was still, but they found themselves in each other's arms nonetheless, taking advantage of their sleepy minds as an excuse in case the morning frightened them. They want to kiss again, so many times, but they don't. 

\--

 The next morning they wake up with their legs entangled, Jack's arms are pressed between their bodies as they lie on their sides, with Mark's arm trapped under the green haired man's neck, the other holding onto him for dear life. Their hips and bare chests were pressed against each other's, which the younger's head was tucked under his elder counterpart's chin. The redhead wake up first and studies the other man, who is a picture of beauty in the early morning glow. He's never felt such satisfaction just from waking up alone, never felt any joy from opening his eyes and seeing his lover. Perhaps, he dares to think, because his lover was not Jack. The American sighs, he's not in love, but he could be, it's too fast, too soon, a complicated whirl of days and emotions. no, it isn't rational to think that this is love. But it's something...it's attraction, its a crush and it's worth chasing. If only so much didn't stand in their way. 

The sunlight kissed the long, thick ebony lashes of the sleeping man's face, his skin paler and glowing in the pink light of the early morning, filtered through tattered blinds. His cheek are daintily red, whilst the lids of his eyes fluttered. His body feels so small and lithe against the large form of his own, like the young Irishman needed protecting from all the evils that the world had to offer. He didn't. But Mark could kid himself otherwise for a second. It felt nice to actually care about someone. Jack stirs, interrupting the silence, his eyes flutter open, leaving the stunning blue hues to practically glow in the early sunlight. The American immediately moves away and slides out of bed, with a pang to his heart that screams he confesses his turmoil to his friend. 

They shower and dress individually and in silence; they've become the masters of remaining silent it seems, and ignoring what they want to say as if the words are poison and will physically hurt the other. It's a pity, because as usual, they're both thinking the same thing and the fight is a pointless disaster. 

They make a show of pretending nothing has changed as they walk along the pier in the midday sun, a warmth on their back followed by a slightly bitter breeze. Jack shivers, but does not draw near the other, instead playing with the ring on his finger in the cold, before sliding it off. His fingers are red, but he holds it out to Mark in silence "Sorry, I forgot about this," The elder man stares at the object as if it's foreign, as if he's never seen it before, or perhaps seeing it for the first time. He ducks behind his hair, every frayed strand falling in front of his eyes as if he is trying to hide. "It doesn't belong to me, it belongs to her," Mark sighs and takes the ring from between the Irishman's frozen fingers, sliding it into his pocket. His phone buzzes in his pocket in cue to tears welling in his eyes. 

"I wish I'd thrown the damn thing in the sea," He whispers to the wind, as it seems to be the only thing that listens. 

The text reads 'I know,' it's flashing there with her name, making him curl up in a ball at the end of the wooden pier, thinking of throwing himself into the icy embrace of the merciless waves. The depths would be unforgiving, and he knew he would lose his life if he just slipped off the edge. But he's not given up yet, he still can get back on his feet, even without friends and family; but he feels like the villain knowing she will be hurt (And she is hurt, so very hurt, but she's not angry with him, she knows he must be hurting too). No amount of apologies will fix the mess that he stood at the epicenter of, his entire life a destructive earthquake.

Jack hears his words, however and instead wraps his arm around his friend, allowing him to rest his head against the smaller man's chest and cry softly. Tears stain the other's sweatshirt as the dam is broken; what had originally been a timid sob with furiously wiping eyes, was becoming a mess as the other shook against him, gasping violently for air whilst salted tears rolled over his red and puffy cheeks. He was not a beautiful crier, but Jack doesn't care as he holds him, and thinks silently how much pain he will be in knowing he can't always be there to hold him. They wished they had forever, after these past few days of knowing each other. If nothing else, they were friends, the only good friends they'd had in their lives. 

They know that they only have another day together, tomorrow it would take three hours to drive back into Manchester, leaving Jack homeless and Mark with a mess to clean up, including cutting his toxic parents from his life, and probably saying goodbye to the only friend he'd ever known. He'd loved her, not hated her, this was never her fault, but his love for her was not the way a man loved his wife; only the way a friend loved a friend. He wasn't romantically or sexually attracted to her and there was no fairness in forcing her to love him when he could never be what she dreamed of. 

The road felt long even though they clambered in at 3PM and got out again at 5PM. It was still light but the road was endless, endless and full of darkness that seemed to echo on and on. Why did they feel like hollow beings? Why did the silence feel like their best friend? Jack couldn't take his eyes off Mark, studying every line of his jaw, and the way the low light soaked into his skin, the feeling of his soft lips echoing through his mind. Home seemed to be now, in this car, on the open road, and the thought scared him. The elder tilts his head and catches the other's eyes, the same soft look echoing backwards and forth between them, before he simply tears away and focuses on the road and the emptiness that is slowly soaking into his bones. They were sickened by their own fear, so full of fear of things they had never experienced before in such a small space of time that they were withdrawing from each other, despite needing each other more than they ever would. 

"Would it really killed you if we kissed?" Is the first question out of the Irishman's mouth as he stood, leaning against the closed hotel room door, looking up through those long, thick lashes; his lips parted as if he wants to say more but has no idea what to say. The sounds are torn from the back of his throat as Mark sighs and brings a hand to trace the stubble on the shorter man's jaw, towering over him despite the small height difference. He sounds as if he cannot decide, before leaning down and stealing the air straight from his friend's lungs, their lips joined and pressed together before starting up a frantic rhythm. Jack's fingertips pushed at the other, before balling up in his friend's shirt, wanting him closer and closer, but it was never close enough. 

Mark pushes the other down on the bed, for a moment he can't move and simply stares at the image of the green haired man on his back, legs hanging apart and eyes darkened to a dim blue. "Are you sure?" He mutters, knowing that he's about to make what could be the worst or best decision of his life as he stares down at his friend curiously. Jack nods in consent, breath heavy as it twirls out from his lips, hot against the other as they re-connect their lips. Their mouths move as if the only air pure enough is from each other, driving them insane like some sick sort of drug. Jack's bottom lip is crucified and bruised, the taste of blood lingering on Mark's tongue as he bites down a little too hard. It's the first time the smaller man moans loudly, his hips pressing up against the American's. "Jack," He groans, eyes fluttering closed, the man's name like a prayer on his tongue. If there's a Heaven then it's this. 

The younger man's hands make quick work of Mark's belt, flipping them over so he's sat in his lap, his thin legs on either side of the half-German's, grinding down in a slow, fluid motion. It's quiet, except for their own heavy breathing and bated breath, lingering in the echoes of the room. They strip Jack off, the Irishman whining as his body is treated like precious art, every kiss a blessing, or something akin to this. He thinks Mark is taking so long to pay attention to every detail because he's never slept with a man; in some ways, he is correct, but he's really never slept with someone who made him feel as if he was on fire. Who made him feel somewhat special, who he was actually attracted to, mentally and physically and romantically. He also knows he's not getting another chance, and wants this one to last forever. It's almost like he's driving Jack's body, every touch eliciting some wanted response. 

The feel of the Mark's hand around the chartreuse haired man's length is foreign to him, but the touch causes him to moan, burying his bashful, reddened face in the other's neck as he shifts into the touch. "Fuck," He cusses gently "Don't stop," He has no intentions of doing so, despite the slow fear in the back of his mind saying how stupid and wrong this is. Jack's naked, scrambling for cheap water based lube out of Mark's bag, who is always prepared but had accidentally left with it, and not actually intended on using it this trip. Mark is still fully clothed, but they both seem happy and comfortable with this dynamic, the elder man's hard cock released from it's confinements of unbuttoned jeans, halfway down his hips. The Irishman sits in his lap, soft moans tumbling against the skin of the darker man's neck, the two of them rocking up against each other, with Mark's length pushing further in every time they moved. A soft, high whine escapes the younger's throat as he pulls back and looks down at his one hour lover, their lips joining in the middle. He can't help but smile against his lips. 

They lay together, tangled up in each other, feeling regret and yet satisfaction. They had the day left together, before their goodbyes needed to be made. 

\--

The morning starts with a hot shower, Jack is smiling despite wanting to cry as he flicks water at his friend, the two of them complaining it's either too hot or too cold before kissing to settle their differences. They could lie to themselves for a couple of hours to convince themselves they were in love, that they were sacred to each other in some way. If only they'd met in a different time, in another universe where they were destined to be.

The drive, once again, is silent, as they allow themselves to think about the fact that this is most definitely the end of the line.  So much is wanted to be said from either or both of them, sitting side by side in a cabin of lies as the open highway embraced them. The familiar motorway back into Manchester greeted Mark like an old friend, or the ferryman at the gates of the underworld. He watches the world as it had always been, ignorant to his life and his struggles, ignorant to the fact he was about to leave his friend behind. Even if they'd fucked. Even if there was some romantic implications. They were friends, they didn't have to be in love to miss each other. The sun is golden in the sky, with the silhouette of the clouds making pretty silver shapes in an outline of the horizon. It was such a beautiful day, with a brilliant coral sky. 

Mark pulls up outside his house. "Do you want to come in?" He asks, looking towards his own door with something akin to fear in his wide eyes. He doesn't want to face this alone, he doesn't want to walk back in there with nothing and have to start from scratch with no one, when no one knows him like Jack did. This past few days he'd given all his secrets away. The green haired man places a hand down on top of Mark's, lips parted to say something, but instead a shine like goodbye appeared in his eyes so he had to look away. Clearly choking on his own words, he grabs his bag and slides out of the door. As he does so, a figure appears in the doorway and stares at the two. 

She's gorgeous. Her hair is dark brown, so dark it's almost ebony, and her skin is like warm cocoa, matching her shining eyes. Everything about her is swift and her movements are agile, like a predator moves to catch it's prey. And then she smiles, it's gentle and calm and melancholy, but not angry. "Welcome home," She smiles to her would be fiancee, who is very certainly crying. "Don't get upset," She moves up the pathway and brings her (first and foremost) friend into her arms, letting him sob into her shoulder as Jack walks away, his boots dragging against the ground as he does. "It was never your fault," He goes to argue, to protest, he wants her to be angry, wants to feel punishment for the sort of person he was, but instead he is only met by kindness. "Let's go inside and talk about it,"

He looks around for Jack, but he's already gone. 

 

 

 


	15. Roman Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is finally over yay. 
> 
> Phan.  
> They still have their four year age gap, so Dan is 17 and Phil is 21. In the UK 16 is the age of consent so it's not really Underage, but as a warning anyway. There's also vaguely mentioned smut but none actually happens.

Dan's lips tasted sweet, of cranberries and exotic fruits. His tongue tasted of hot liquor, and his body smelt sweet, like flowers. Phil wants to ask if it's his mothers, because it's definitely a feminine smell. His body feels warm against his own as they stand atop the world with smiles on their lips. There's nothing big about this, they've been on first dates before, but never with each other and it feels like forever that they've been dancing around this. The younger boy, with his hair curling naturally atop his head, and soft brown eyes full of wonder, takes in the sight of his lover, sat cross-legged underneath him with the landscape of the world behind him. The moon was beautiful, and made Phil's skin look even paler, but like there was a halo surrounding him. He's so beautiful. 

And Phil, he was thinking the same thing. Taking in the soft tan skin of his best friend, feeling it under his fingertips as the moonlight made a pretty picture of an already beautiful boy. If he could, he'd have him right here, right now. Instead, however, he presses his lips to the dimple on his cheek and smiles. "Time to go home," He says gently, and although his boyfriend complains and whines loudly, with his cocoa eyes wide as saucers, he ignores his protest "Come on, before your parents get worried," Phil is old enough to look after himself, he's got his own place and his own flat. Dan, however, still had another four more years to catch up. He takes him by the hand and leads him back down the hill, back to his house, where he waves goodbye with a small smile on his face. 

Dan's father is on him the minute he walks through the door, apparently his mother had enlightened him he was in fact going on a date. "Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" The young boy stared up at his father's aggressive stance, a whimper leaving his lips. "I think he's too old for you," His mother, however, slides in with a roll of her eyes. she takes Dan by the arm and leads him away from his father. 

"He's not a baby anymore, he's nearly 18, and perfectly capable of looking after himself," The teenager smiles gratefully as he goes to change into his pajamas, sliding under the bed covers. He can hear his parents shouting and knows without a doubt that it's about him, or rather him and Phil. A sickening feeling rose in his stomach before tightening around the inside of his throat. He was always the problem it seemed. He buries his head in his pillow and thinks of his lover, thinks of his cerulean eyes and soft lips, thinks of his gentle hands and the way his skin glows in the moonlight. It relaxes him enough to fall into a deep sleep. 

The next time they hang out is completely on Dan's terms. The brunet boy was keen to break the law it seemed as he disabled the alarm system for the public swimming pool. "Don't worry, I've done this plenty of times," He grins, grabbing his lover's hand and dragging him into trouble head first. He can feel his pulse bouncing off the other's skin as they arrive at the pool. He tries not to stare as he steps out of his skinny jeans and sweater, but the delicate arch of his back is possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, with the pool reflecting light up over his tan body. He does look away, however, when the other throws his boxers onto the pile and dives into the water, causing the blue and green ripples to reflect off the moonlight. His body still looks gorgeous when he's red and panting for air, the droplets sliding down his tan back. "Come on!" The younger giggles, a grin on his face. 

He doesn't join him, but sits on the edge of the pool with his jeans next to him and his feet under the water's surface. He watches Dan in fascination as he swims, his lithe body making the most of the water as he glides through the waves. He doesn't want to stare, but he's just the picture of everything he's ever dreamed of. He's tall, but a little bit shorter than himself, with such beautiful tan skin. He's not too skinny, and much like himself has a little weight on his hips. He's not fat by any standards, and the way he twirls in the water reminds Phil of the grace a ballerina might have. He almost wishes he had that grace. 

Dan finally climbs out, drying himself off with his jacket, before pulling on his boxers, jeans and shirt. A muffled complaint leave his lips as his hair curls but Phil only finds it entrancing. The two sit side by side for a few more minutes, before deciding to make their way back out. When Dan returns home he gets the third degree of breaking curfew, to which he ignores. It seems impossible to tie him down. 

They hang out a few more times, but every time Dan needs to go home early to his protective father who was suffocating him under rules and groundings. The timing is always off and for a while they swear that fate is trying to tear them away. However, on Dan's 18th birthday they decide to celebrate together; the younger boy gets all the hate in the world from his father, who calls him ungrateful and shouts at him until he's red in the face. Both Phil and his mother watched on astonished as Dan turned with all the grace in the world, ethereal calmness in his soft cinnamon eyes "I've put up with you every day of my life, and all you've ever made me feel is suffocated, keeping me away from the world, I'm so happy to have the right to leave," And he just turns as if he could cut the air itself, walking away from his father to his boyfriend whose eyes are like diamonds, worry and shock residing right back into his skull.

The two of them decide to go on a road trip, just a short couple of days running away together. They stop a few times to enjoy the sky and sun, the changing colors of the world. The sun set one day and frosted the next; English weather was a confusion in itself. Together they were chasing the sunrise, riding through the darkness without a care in the world, memorizing the taste of their lips and how it changed sometimes. Dan tasted mostly of sugar and sweets, he tasted of hyperactivity and nonchalance. Somewhere along the lines he tasted of pleasure. Phil tasted more strange, he lived his life by 'try anything once' and it reflected on the strangest food he picked. Mostly he tasted of odd Japanese sweets, sometimes of milk that wasn't milk (because he's allergic to actual milk). 

They'd been listening to the same music over and over, the same Good Charlotte album on and on until they knew every lyric inside and out. Dan giggles, leaning over to press a kiss to Phil's cheek. They're overjoyed, running off the adrenaline that Dan's dad had finally been put in his place, and his unhealthy obsession with keeping Dan away from the world had finally faltered. Perhaps it's the only reason they're happy, they don't know. But when Dan's legs are spread in the backseat of his lover's car, with Phil lying between his hips like he belonged there, he knows he has found happiness right here. 

They could run forever together, until they have to figure out their lives. Dan still needs to finish college but Phil had a stable income at least. They'd figure it out. Between stolen kisses and repairing Dan's slightly fractured family, they'd work something out 


End file.
